Eyes Wide Shut
by LittleGee
Summary: "My whole life, I'd wanted to do this. Everyone had told me that I was wasting my time. Nobody like me ever made it in show business with what I wanted to do. Because I didn't want to act; I just wanted to perform." Joining The Five Horsemen hadn't been part of Hunter's plan when she moved to New York from London. Neither had romance. But magic works in strange ways.
1. Soaring, Flying

**A/N- Hi there, fellow **_**Now You See Me **_**fans! I know this type of fic has been done before, but I decided I'd jump on the bandwagon and write it anyway! **_**NYSM **_**is one of my absolute favourite films, and Jack is my favourite character. He's just so adorable! And Dave Franco…well, need I say more? Anyway, this is my newest and latest fic, and I'm so excited to write it! Actually, I'm gonna shut up now and just let you read. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter One- Soaring, Flying**

My whole life, I'd wanted to do this. What was it everyone had told me? Oh yeah, that I was wasting my time. That nobody like me ever made it in the show business industry, not with what I wanted to do. Because I didn't want to act; I just wanted to perform.

Well sucks to them, because here I was.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,_" James, the host of Starlight Wonders, the circus-style stage show I was an act in, said into his microphone, projecting his voice throughout the stadium. Well, I said stadium. The place the show was staged was nowhere near as big as a stadium, but it was much bigger than just a hall. "_Next up we have one of our hottest acts of the show! She's a beautiful young woman who came to us all the way from London in England! She'll astound you with her death-defying trapeze act that she performs fearlessly without a net! But be careful, because is everything what it seems? I give you…Hunter!_"

Lights. Lights everywhere, but at the same time, only in one place. A spotlight, and it was shining directly in my face. It was hot, making it feel like the glitter of my eyeshadow was melding to my face. I sucked in a deep breath and flashed a huge smile at the audience, who were cheering and whistling so loudly I thought my ears would burst.

I waved with both hands, and the audience died down almost instantly. "What's up, New York City!" I shouted into the microphone that was attached behind my ear and came round to my mouth. "How are y'all doing today!" A cheering reply. Normally I said 'tonight' but this was the Sunday afternoon performance, though it was so dark in the stadium it looked like one in the morning rather than one in the afternoon.

"So it probably goes without saying that you should _not _attempt to copy what I am about to do at home," I announced, gesturing up at the five trapezes twelve metres above me. "I mean, I doubt any of you actually have trapezes casually hanging from your living room ceilings, but I don't really want to get sued for indorsing dangerous behaviour." Cue audience laugh. I'd have probably found it more amusing if I didn't make the same joke every single show.

I laughed anyway and began climbing up the ladder that lead to the sixty centimetre square platform I launched myself off. "So as you can see, I'll be performing all my tricks without the aid of a safety net. I'd like to tell you that it's totally one hundred percent safe…but I would be lying to you. On the plus side, I haven't died or broken any bones yet. I did break a false nail last week but hey, I signed up knowing there were chances of being life-alteringly damaged."

_Urgh, these jokes are getting stale_, I thought as the audience laughed again. It took another couple of minutes or so to climb to the platform, with me cracking a couple more jokes I'd told about two thousand times over the last year and a half since I'd joined the show.

I clambered gracefully up on to the tiny platform, the lights glinting off the red sequins of my ballet dress-style costume and making the red glitter sprayed into my blonde hair look like I had fire embers nestled in my hair. I looked down at the wooden flooring of the stage. _Shit, that's gonna hurt if I do fall_, I thought grimly, the same thought I had every time I did this act. _So much for being the fearless Hunter. _"Well, here we go!" was all I said out loud to the audience, and I leaped from the platform, easily grabbing hold of the trapeze two metres in front of me.

I could hear the audience's gasps and cheers as I performed various backflips and somersaults between the five trapezes, pausing on each one to pull myself up onto the bar to do a handstand or something similar. It looked amazing to anyone else, I'm sure, having the ability to twist my body into the exact positions to grab the trapezes perfectly, to manoeuvre my way around them with ease and avoid falling to my death, but to me it was perfectly normal.

A crowd favourite was when I monkey-barred from the furthest trapeze to the other. This was also the trick where I performed my greatest illusion.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I called to everyone as I landed lightly back on the platform. "One of my favourite tricks to show you is what I like to call 'the monkey bars'. All you kids know what I'm talking about, am I right?" All the children in the crowd made varying noises of agreement. _God, I hope I'm not about to mentally scar any of these poor kids…_

Because unbeknown to the audience, whilst it looked like I simply had my arms crossed behind my back, I was in fact attaching three near-invisible harnesses to my costume, wires of which could not be seen if you were any further than a metre away from them. Though I really did perform the duration of my act with no wires or net, for this part it really was required so I didn't break my neck or kill myself.

"So let's rock this!" I cried happily once I had attached the wires, and I jumped to the trapeze, grabbing hold of it for a mere second before I launched myself at the second and then third. But as I reached for the fourth…

My fingers failed to grab hold of the bar, and I slipped. To the audience, it looked like I had lost my grip of the bar and was now plummeting face-down towards the stage at an alarming speed. I obviously played up to this, opening my mouth and screaming blue murder. The audience was shrieking and gasping, truly terrified that they were about to watch me meet my untimely demise. But any second now-

There was a blindingly bright flash of light, and I disappeared behind a couple of strategically placed mirrors, the wires attached to me going rigid so I was suspended in the air behind the mirrors. I was hanging there for a few moments, taking in the many confused sounds the audience was making, because the way the mirrors were angled made it look like I'd vanished quite literally into thin air.

Next came the smoke screen; smoke that was so opaque you couldn't see through it at all. This was the trickiest part. I had exactly eleven seconds for the wires to pull me back up to the trapezes so I could sit on one and remove said wires. It should have been like clockwork by now, but it was still pretty bloody hard.

As I was yanked back up towards the ceiling of the stadium, shrouded in dense red smoke, it felt like all the air was being sucked for my lungs. However, I really did not have time to worry about this as the smoke was now getting thinner, risking revealing my survival too early. I wrapped my hands around the middle trapeze and hoisted myself up, arranging myself in a stylistic sitting position with one bare leg delicately crossed over the other. I held on to one of the ropes of the trapeze with one hand and unclipped the wires from my costume with the other. I returned to my pose as the still-relatively-thick smoke dispersed into the air, revealing me to everyone.

The audience went crazy, cheering and whooping and shouting as I was lowered back down to the stage. I laughed heartily at everyone and waved at them. "So that's my little show for you guys! Hey, James said that everything may not be as it seems!" I bowed then did a little curtsey whilst the audience carried on cheering. "Good afternoon, New York!"

As I made my way backstage I could hear the audience chanting my name, "_Hun-ter! Hun-ter! Hun-ter!_" and it felt so humbling I could barely comprehend it.

* * *

My favourite part of the Sunday show was that it was the _only_ show of the day. It was now just past three in the afternoon, and I was able to change out of my tight and spangly costume and into my preferred outfit of ripped white skinny jeans, a tartan tank top and red Converse. As I looked around my dressing room, taking in the red walls, costume rail and theatre-style dressing table, I still couldn't believe that I was here.

I'd moved to New York two years ago at the tender age of eighteen, after I'd gotten totally and utterly sick of my parents back in London telling me that I would never amount to anything in show business. They'd always pushed me towards a business-like career, and were utterly dismayed when I chose my A-Levels to be Gymnastics, Dance and Drama. It nearly killed them. They didn't even care that I got As in all of them; all they wanted me to do was get an apprenticeship at a finance firm in the city centre. So I did the only mature thing.

I told them there was no way in Hell that I was working in finance, scraped together all my savings from working as a waitress in TGI Friday's and any money my parents had been saving since my birth, spent a month looking for cheap apartments in the Big Apple, found one in Brooklyn that appealed greatly and left for NY five weeks later. In my opinion it was the best decision I'd ever made, because a couple of months after arriving I saw that a local stage show were looking for new acts, and I auditioned.

The rest is pretty much history.

The one thing I didn't overly like about being an act in the show was that I had to wear so much makeup under those harsh lights. Looking at myself in the mirror now, I could see my foundation line so clearly it looked like I'd been at some orange face paint, my lips looked dry and cracked under the matte red lipstick and the red glitter over my eyelids was itching like hell. I grabbed about four makeup wipes and got set to scrubbing at my face. I had to scrub so hard it felt like I was removing eight layers of skin, but eventually it did all come off, leaving me to be able to apply much more natural-looking foundation, a swipe of eyeliner and a slick of pink gloss. _Much better_, I thought, standing up to put my dress back on the costume rail.

I pulled a hanger off the rail, stuck it under the straps of the dress and started flattening down the skirt with my hands so it fit back on the rail. As I made my way along the skirt, my hands suddenly pressed down on something that wasn't net. It was a lot firmer, and I rummaged through the layers of net until my hand closed around whatever it was.

It was a card, and when I pulled it out of the skirt to examine it properly, I saw it was a Tarot card. A Hanged Man Tarot card to be precise. Well this was more than a little bit weird. That card most certainly had not been nestling in the layers of the skirt when I'd dressed earlier, so how the hell did it get there?! I frowned at the card for a moment, then shrugged and put it in my handbag.

I was tired, and really not in the right mindset to look too deeply into this at the moment. I looked at my phone, answered a couple of text messages from my parents and checked the time. Perfect, mid-afternoon. There was time for me to do one of my favourite past times; catching one of the water taxis on the Hudson River and taking an hour out of practicing and performing to just…chill.

I gathered up my bag and cardigan (short-sleeved to show off the _live well, love much, laugh often _tattoo on my left forearm), which I shrugged over my shoulders, and made my way through the backstage of the stadium and out the back door into the street, quite grateful the next show wasn't until next Friday night. The streets of New York were bustling, as per usual. I thought the London streets were bad in the afternoons, but New York really did take the biscuit when it came to full-on craziness in the city. It had intimidated me when I first moved here- now I was just used to it.

It took twenty minutes for me to reach the river from where the stadium was, but to be honest I was grateful for the walk. It was nearing the end of March, so the sun was out and it was finally starting to get warm after the snow-filled months that had been winter. I relished in the breeze blowing my hair gently around my face, still slightly chilly. Then again, that could have just been the breeze blowing from the river.

I waited in the queue to get on the river taxi for another ten or so minutes, paid the fare to get on and chose a spot by the rails so I could look out over at the New York view; just skyscrapers, skyscrapers, skyscrapers. And I loved it. When I had first arrived in America, I had been probably _the _biggest tourist the city had ever seen, making sure I visited every single notable landmark there was. I didn't know what it was; perhaps it was just the fact that all things American seemed so much nicer than Britain...including the people.

I turned to face the people on the boat and leaned my head slightly backwards over the railing, my long hair trailing over the side and my eyes closed, allowing the fine mist of river water to spray up over my face, cooling down my still-warm skin. _I made the right decision_, I thought reassuringly. _Moving over here. I did. _Two years on, and I still had to reassure myself.

An extra-large splash of water spat up from the river and hit me on the forehead. I opened my eyes, spluttering and wiping my forehead, when I caught sight of what I could only describe as the most gorgeous boy I had _ever _seen making his way across the deck to the front of the boat. He was the textbook definition of H-O-T. Dressed in a black leather jacket and dark jeans, it was fair to say that DAMN, he was one fine piece of ass. My mouth parted slightly as I took in the sight of him, and to be honest I was feeling more than a little hot under the collar.

He couldn't have been much older than me…twenty-one, twenty-two at a push. I smiled a little when he looked in my direction after turning round to face all the passengers on the boat, a smile which he returned politely. _Shit, that smile_. I couldn't help myself; I manoeuvred my way down the rail so that I was standing about seven or eight feet away from him without looking like I had intentionally followed him.

From where I was standing, I had a pretty good view of the boy, whoever he was. _My God, who is this guy? He looks like a male model. Look at the way his jeans fit him…holy Lord… _

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called. _Oh my God, his voice_. It was all deep and sexy and holy Jesus, was it getting warmer on this boat? "I am the next great magician-" _Yeah, right, _I thought, grinning slightly. _We all think we're the next big thing, sweetheart. _"-and I will give a hundred dollars to anyone who can tell me how this trick is done!"

_Oh God, here we go_. Another amateur about to perform some lame-ass sleight of hand or card trick that he spent the last year of his life perfecting in his mother's basement. Well, you had to admire his guts. And his face. My cheeks flamed with a blush. _Earth to Hunter, what is wrong with you?! _I was twenty years old, way too old to be getting flustered just because I thought a boy was good-looking!

"I have an ordinary spoon from Mel's Deli right here in Brooklyn!" he continued, holding up a- would you believe it- spoon. "Check it out." He whacked the spoon on a railing a few times as if to prove that the spoon was real. Okay, now I was curious to see where he was going with this. I certainly didn't know any easy tricks involving spoons.

"Now everyone please pay very, very close attention," the boy instructed, holding the spoon horizontally in front of his face and shaking his other hand a few times as he psyched himself up. "Because I am about to bend this spoon with my mind."

I stood up straight now, pushing myself away from the railing and folding my arms, looking intently at the boy. I worked with a relatively successful illusion-based stage show, and I had _never _seen anyone do anything with their mind before. I was officially very intrigued.

The boy stared intensely at the spoon for a moment or too and then, as he moved his hand down slowly, the handle of the spoon bent with it. I couldn't believe it, and my mouth unintentionally dropped open, a gasp coming out of it. Jesus Christ, he'd actually done it. I knew that what I did on stage probably elicited similar reactions, but I'd never experienced something like it personally. The crowd that had gathered in front of the boy cheered and whooped, myself along with them.

"Hey, do another one!" I called to him, grinning, and he looked at me and smiled back. _Or do me, I'm not that fussed about which one…oh my God, Hunter, really!? _I needed to get a grip. The boy handed the bent spoon to someone in the crowd when suddenly-

"Hey, what's this?" demanded some random guy who had just pushed himself to the front of the group, and he shoved his hand into the boy's back pocket.

"What are you doing, man?!" the boy asked, sounding panicked.

"Look at this!" the man shouted obnoxiously, suddenly brandishing another spoon and a handle. "Looks like we got a spoon and a stem!" Ah, shit. The poor guy was busted. I felt for him, because that was a really good trick.

The crowd groaned and started cat-calling. The boy look deathly embarrassed, and it took all the restraint I had not to rush over and hug him. "I've got other tricks!" he insisted.

"Or, you can give me my hundred bucks," the obnoxious guy ordered. The boy faltered, and I wondered if he actually _had _a hundred dollars to give him.

"You said you would," pointed out another crowd-goer. _Shut up! _I felt like shouting at them all. But the boy admitted defeat and pulled out quite a rich-looking leather wallet, opening it and taking out a hundred dollar bill.

"You have a very good eye, sir," he said dejectedly, handing the man the bill.

"Thanks," the man said infuriatingly, and I had to take two deep breaths to stop myself from punching him. The boy shoved his wallet back into the interior pocket of his leather jacket and headed down the steps to get off the water taxi, which had just docked to allow people to board and exit. I hesitated for a few seconds, then decided that I wanted to properly know how the boy did the trick, so I hurried down the steps after him.

That was when shit appeared to hit the fan above me.

"Stop that guy! Stop that guy in the leather jacket!" Obnoxious Guy suddenly squawked as I pushed my way past someone in a navy hoodie, and I instinctively picked up the pace to catch up to said guy in the leather jacket, who was already on the boarding dock and showing no sign of letting up speed. _Ah, so __that's__ the trick. Now I really am impressed._

"He's got my wallet!" Obnoxious Guy was yelling as I jumped from the departing water taxi and onto the dock, barely clearing the watery gap between them. And by 'barely clearing' I mean my heels were an inch off the dock and some randomer had to grab my arm to pull me onto dry land before I went splashing down into the Hudson.

"Hey! Hey!" I shouted, waving my arms as I sprinted after the boy. "Mr Spoon Trick! You in the leather jacket! Wait! Goddamn it, I don't run that fast!" Thank the Lord, the boy turned around, saw me running towards him like a crazy person and actually stopped.

"Er, hi," he said, pulling a face that was a cross between a friendly smile and a frown of confusion.

"Hi," I gasped at him, bending down and bracing myself on my knees. "There's something I want…to ask you but…just let me…regain the use of…my lungs!"

"Um, yeah, sure," he said, smirking at me. "Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah, I'm fine," I blew out. "Just not used to running great distances, that's all."

"Do you want me to get a doctor?" he asked, clearly humouring me. With my breathing returned to normal, I straightened up and raised my eyebrows at him, hands on hips.

"I'm not dying!" I said. "I'm just a little unfit is all. Anyway, it's nice to meet you. I'm Hunter. Hunter Blackwell." I offered my hand to him.

"Jack Wilder," he returned, shaking my offered hand.

"Well, Jack Wilder," I said. "I did have a few questions to ask you about the spoon trick, but being honest, I'm _much _more curious about your little trick with the wallet."

"Oh yeah?" Jack was grinning at me now. Oh my Lord, his smile was so hot, all crooked and shit. "You don't look like the kind of person interested in magic."

"Yeah? And why's that?" I challenged. "Because I'm a girl? I will have you know that I'm a magician myself. Well, of sorts."

"Oh man," Jack chuckled apologetically. "My bad. What do you do?"

"Well, technically I'm a solo trapeze artist," I explained. "But I'm an illusionist as well. I've lost count of the amount of times I've supposedly almost fallen to my death."

"Wait. Are you the Hunter who does that vanishing act in that Starlight show?"

"Yes, yes I am," I answered. "Have you seen the show?"

"Yeah, I was there about a week ago," he replied. "You were awesome."

"Why thank you, kind sir," I giggled, doing a little curtsey. "I try my best."

"How did you do that thing, when there was that flash of light and you were gone?"

"Uh, uh, uh," I taunted, jabbing my finger at him. "A good magician never reveals her secrets. You should know that, as a fellow master of the art."

"Wasn't the entire reason you got off that boat to ask me how I did my trick?" Jack shot back.

"Touché," I appraised. "You got me with that one. But no, that isn't the _only _reason. I live in Brooklyn."

"Really? I live in Brooklyn too. But…" Jack stared at me. "You don't sound like you're from New York. Or America, actually."

"Good observation, Sherlock," I said sarcastically. "I'm _not _from New York or America. I am English and a Londoner, born and bred in the city itself."

"English? Exotic."

"Yeah, not really. England is about as un-exotic as it comes. I think it rains for about eighty percent of the year, no matter where you are in the country. I do _not _recommend it as a holiday spot."

"I'll remember that advice if I ever think about going, then," he laughed. I liked the sound of his laugh. It was distinctive; low and sexy.

"Do. It'll do you the world of good." I cleared my throat, now kind of unsure what to say. Damn it, I didn't want to have to leave the hot guy because of awkward silences!

So I did what any girl in my position would do; I made an excuse to leave. "Oh, is that the time?" I said, pulling my phone out of my handbag and looking at the lock screen. "I'm, um, supposed, um…supposed to Skype my parents back in London in an hour! So I'd better…get going…" Shittest. Excuse. Ever. It would be nearing half past eleven at night back in London in an hour. My parents would be fast asleep.

"Okay, that's cool," Jack said, flashing me that smile again. I nearly melted then and there. "Hopefully I'll see you around. Hunter."

"Yeah, hopefully," I said faintly, trying to remember how to breathe, smile and talk. In that order. "Catch you later. Jack." I turned on my heel and began walking away, now also trying to remember how to walk.

_Nice one Hunter. You're twenty years old, you see a proper hot guy for the first time in two years and you act like you've never seen the male species before in front of him. Congratulations. _Well, one thing was for sure; this was New York. There was little to no chance that I would ever see Jack Wilder again. I was quite disappointed by that little fact.

* * *

I collapsed against the shut door of my studio apartment. My apartment was beautiful…or at least, it was now. When I had arrived here, the apartment had been in less-than-immaculate condition. I'm talking cracked floorboards, sour cream-coloured walls with water stains decorating every few feet and mould in the corners and round the windows. And so, armed with paint, wallpaper, floor varnish and various flat packs, I spent three days redecorating the whole room- and the adjoining bathroom- until it didn't look like somewhere that had recently housed a convict.

I rubbed at my heavy eyes, accidentally smearing my eye makeup. I got this same feeling every Sunday- exhaustion, achyness and a lot of hunger. Always hunger. So I did the only logical thing: I kicked off my Converse, removed my constricting skinny jeans, wandered over to the tiny little corner kitchen in my little pink heart-print panties and my vest and ended up eating an entire two-person microwave lasagne, plus garlic bread. It really did make me wonder why I still managed to fit in an American size eight when I ate like a horse.

I dozily clicked through the various channels on my TV whilst lounging back on my bed, very nearly asleep. I was absent-mindedly tracing a finger around the tattoo of a scattering of multicoloured stars on my hip when I suddenly remembered the freaky Tarot card that had appeared in my dress. What had _that _been all about? The card had not been in my skirts when I went off stage, I come off stage and the card has appeared in my skirts, as if by…

A light bulb went off in my head. _As if by magic_.

I rolled off the bed, landing in a heap on the floorboards. That card meant something. I didn't know what, but after what had happened today- the last show of the week, finding the card, seeing Jack's trick- I knew there was something important about that Tarot card.

I rummaged through my bag, pulling out various tickets and chocolate wrappers that were gathered at the bottom until I grabbed hold of the card that I'd carelessly shoved in here. I held it up in front of my eyes, wanting to get a closer look at the picture on the front. That was when I realised I was looking at the back of the card. I frowned.

It was a simple design; a black print of an Egyptian eye surrounded by cream and teal bursts like sunrays with Celtic-looking print around the top and bottom edges. It wasn't ugly. It also wasn't why I was frowning. Underneath the eye, in heavy yellow print was:  
_MARCH 29  
4.44pm  
45 EAST EVAN ST_

_NY, NY_

It wasn't just a random Tarot card. "Okay, so that is clearly an address," I mused aloud. "But to where?" It was an invitation. But an invitation to what?

I continued my inspection of the card. I looked at the eye on the back of the card. It was so pretty…I was officially considering getting it as my fourth tattoo, to add to the quote on my arm, the stars on my hip and the five pink hearts linked by black swirls on my right ankle.

The picture of the other side of the card was... morbid, to say the least. It appeared to be what looked like a man, hanging upside down by the neck and ankles from a yellow tree trunk. _Well isn't that cheery,_ I thought, my inner voice dripping with sarcasm. Being a fan of all the hocus pocus of magic and illusions, I couldn't resist pulling out my laptop and Googling the address.

Nothing special came up. As far as I could tell, '45 East Evan St' was just an abandoned apartment that the landlord was desperate to sell. So that really wasn't helpful at all.

Giving up on my quest for information on the destination, I turned my curiosity to the card itself, typing "the hanged man tarot meaning" into the search engine and waiting for the results to load. The first few websites came up short, and were mainly filled by psychics and mediums offering their services, to help me contact my long lost relatives and help me "cleanse my aura." Now, obviously I wasn't doubtful of certain psychics or magic that involved using the mind. I myself was a particularly big fan of mentalism, but these websites all appeared to be from men and women who had bought a Tarot pack and self-teach book and some crystals at a garage sale. I avoided these at all costs.

The fourth website I came across, thankfully, had a bit more to go on. As far as I could tell, the Hanged Man represented letting go, reversal, suspension and sacrifice, which was kind of ironic considering my life story.

Letting go- I had let go of my old life in London and my family to follow my dreams. Reversal- I had done the exact opposite of what my parents wanted me to, and also turned my life around. Suspension- well, that is kind of self-explanatory. I was a successful trapeze artist. Everything about this linked to me. Everything except sacrifice. I mean, I guess it could be said I sacrificed my old life, but I had a feeling it wasn't that at all. I was starting to think that maybe the card finding its way to me wasn't exactly a coincidence.

I had a very large feeling that I was going to find out next week, on March twenty-ninth.

* * *

**A/N- So that's Chapter One! I'm hoping to bring in some different elements to the other Jack/OC stories that have been written so this isn't as generic. Not that I'm slating **_**any **_**of the fics that have been written, as the ones I have read are really good! But yeah, I'm really interested to know what you all thought of my beginning take! How did you like Hunter as a character? Let me know, I'd love to get a review from you! I always read them and take them into consideration! Xx Gee xX**

**PS- If you go to my profile, there's a link to who I would want to play Hunter in the movie, and also a link to my new Polyvore collection where you can see Hunter's various outfits, which will be developed as the story goes on, her tattoos, and the inside of her apartment. Check it out!**

**PPS- Do we have any **_**Kick-Ass **_**or **_**Misfits **_**fans reading? I've recently completed my **_**Misfits **_**Nathan/OC fic, **_**The Art of Abnormality**_**, and I am in the process of writing a **_**Kick-Ass **_**Chris/OC fic called **_**Heart Attack**_**, though that is on hiatus for the moment. Give 'em a read and review, it would mean a lot!**


	2. Invitation Only

**A/N- Wow! You guys have given me an amazing response for a first chapter! Thank you so much! An extra big thanks to my first reviewers, Guest, Prime's Assistant, Ava, lovinburbuks and BananaLollypop!**

* * *

**Chapter Two- Invitation Only**

It had occurred to me on multiple occasions that the Tarot card invitation could have been a load of bullshit. It had also occurred to me that it could be a plant from a murderer, and that I was currently getting ready to meet someone who wanted to stab me in the face, dismember my corpse, tie the limbs up in a bin bag, then dump the bag in an alley. But I was also a cautiously optimistic person, so I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind and instead focussed on the fact that this could be something highly important and life-changing.

This was what I concentrated on as I stood in the shower the early afternoon of March twenty-ninth. To be honest, it was the only thought I was allowing in my head. If I concentrated on the fact that this was all a ruse to lead me to my death, I'd have nothing short of a panic attack. And that was never a good thing. I'd had one on the plane flying over to New York for the first time and nearly punched the seventy-four-year-old man sitting next to me in the eye. It hadn't been pretty.

"You used to be, thirsty for me! But now you wanna be set free!" I sang loudly, massaging strawberry shampoo out of my blonde hair, singing along to _Black Widow _by my favourite singer, Iggy Azalea. "This is the web, the web that you weave, so baby, now rest in peace!" I shut off the shower, stepped out into the somewhat freezing bathroom and quickly wrapped myself in a purple towel. I made sure I'd shut all the blinds in the other room before hurrying out of the bathroom. I didn't want to give everyone on the streets a good eyeful.

I opened my wardrobe and stared at the vibrant explosion of fabrics. Shit. I had no idea what I was going to do today, what this meeting would entail. How the hell was I supposed to know what to wear?! Was it formal? Casual? Pyjamas?! Gah!

_Right. Calm down, _I told myself firmly. _Stop getting so worked up over this. You risk your life nearly every day and you're freaking out over some invitation. Get a grip! _I blew out a lungful of air. At least my subconscious remained rational.

I dropped my towel and hastily pulled on a pair of panties and a bra, then decided to select my usual colourful attire: in this case, I chose electric blue skinny jeans, a red jumper and printed Converse. I figured I might as well show them who I really was, rather than wear some boring, professional-looking black blazer suit.

Now a lot more calm and collected, I set to drying my hair with the towel, then the hairdryer, followed by twisting it up into a simple messy bun. Makeup was also clearly needed, so I dabbed on some foundation, eyeliner and pink gloss. Nothing too elaborate- I wasn't onstage.

I wondered if I was the only person who had been invited to whatever this thing was. I sincerely hoped not, as that really was a Class A clue that you were about to get murdered. No! I needed to stop thinking like this! This…thing…whatever it was, was going to be good for me! Christ, I was usually so positive. Must have been the nerves.

I looked at the clock on the wall, and saw that it was coming up for ten to four. Aw, Jesus, I was starting to run late. I wanted to be at 45 East Evan Street at least ten minutes early, give a good impression and all that. So I grabbed my purple satchel bag, shoved in the Tarot card, my purse, my travel make-up bag and my iPhone in its red crystallized case. It was time for me to rock this bitch.

* * *

"Hey! Yo, taxi!" I yelled, running out into the road and waving my arms in the air. "Taxi! _Taxi_! TAXI!" Christ alive, it could not be harder to hail a taxi in afternoon New York if it tried. Still, one did actually manage to stop for me after a couple of minutes of yelling myself near-hoarse, so I quickly hurried across the traffic and jumped into the car.

"Hey, thanks for like, stopping and all that," I said, pulling my purse out of my bag ready. "I was starting to think I'd be yelling for hours."

"It is my job," the driver said dryly in the distinct Brooklyn accent. "Where d'ya wanna go?"

"Forty-five East Evan Street, please," I said. "I don't suppose you can tell me how far away that is?"

"East Evan?" the driver repeated, pulling away from the curb and heading up the street. "Yeah, that's about twenty minutes away."

"Ooh, excellent!" I practically cheered. "Any chance we can stop at a McDonald's on the way?" I'd been so het up since I woke up that I hadn't eaten anything except for a small bag of Doritos, and I was officially starving.

The driver laughed. "Polite, ain't ya? Typical Brit." So he was one of _those _stereotypists. Any second now… "Ever had tea with The Queen?" Yup. Right on cue.

"Oh yeah, sure," I said wryly. "Me and Lizzie, we go way back. I flew over to Buckingham last July, actually. Yeah, see, I'm Prince George's godmother since I used to date Harry before he joined the army." _Who's polite now, bitch._

The taxi ride was significantly quieter after that. And by quieter I mean silent. Apparently I'd scared the oh-so-hilarious driver with my sarcastic outburst, and he appeared to be quite intimidated to talk to me. Jeez, so much for New Yorkers being so big and tough. Still, I used the journey time in between my apartment and the nearest McDonald's, and then the journey time between grabbing my Big Mac to go and 45 East Evan Street to sit back and just relax. However, the time between Maccy D's and East Evan was all of three minutes, so I still had half a burger left.

_Oh, really bloody professional_, I thought as I handed the driver his fare, my other hand still clutching the Big Mac box. Ah, fuck it, there was no way I was throwing away a perfectly decent burger. I did not waste food, especially when I'd spent three dollars on this.

The building was…dishevelled-looking, shall we say. I mean, yeah, the description of it only hadn't exactly made it sound like the White House, but even this was pushing well-chosen descriptive language of 'needs a little TLC.' And this was just the outside. I suddenly feared for the interior.

I made my way into the building through a warped brown side door, taking my Tarot card out of my bag. The walls were an old stained yellow and the floors were exposed hardwood that clearly had not been polished, let alone cleaned, in about five years. Oh my God, what was I getting myself into?

My old Converse squeaked slightly as I made my way up the stairs, trying to finish my burger, and as I turned up the stairs to the second floor I could hear voices coming from a few floors above me. Thank _God_! I wasn't alone!

"-especially when we don't know who brought us here, or if it's even real." That voice was male, and had a vaguely nasal quality to it.

"Hold on." The second voice was also male, but deeper, older. "I'm sensing…I'm sensing _you…_are a control freak."

"I'm sorry, have we met before?!" demanded Voice One, sounding offended. Jesus Christ, a fight was breaking out and I hadn't even arrived yet.

"It doesn't take a mentalist to figure that out." A third voice joined, but this was a female. "You are a control freak." At the mention of 'mentalism' I distinctly picked up my pace a bit more, rounding around the stairs at the fourth floor.

"Well, I take that as a compliment," said Voice One snarkily.

"Only he would take it as a compliment," Voice Three said contemptuously.

"Good, another compliment."

"So that's why you're no longer a couple," said Voice Two. I reached the sixth floor as Voices One and Three burst into various denials, followed by Voice Three announcing that Voice One- Danny, apparently- thought she was too fat. Everyone stopped talking when they saw I had arrived.

I paused too. Okay, I did not get the memo that this was supposed to be a subdued, borderline-black tie dress code. I was practically glowing in the dark over here! Three people stood in front of Apartment 6A, where I was supposed to be; two men and a young woman. I very vaguely recognized the girl, had no clue who the younger, dark-haired guy was, but I did know of the older blonde dude very well.

"Merritt McKinney?" I said, squinting at him slightly. "OMG, how cool! I actually love your stuff! I always wanted to be a mentalist when I was little, but I never really had the knack. You have a gift, man. A gift." I stuck my hand out- the burgerless one- and he shook it.

"Always nice to meet a true admirer," he said, grinning cockily. He peered at me. "Let me see. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H…H! Your name is an H."

I nodded.

"It's something unusual. Hayden? No…Harper. No, that's not it…Hunter!"

"Yeah, that's me!" I practically squealed, so excited to have been at the forefront of a mentalism trick. "Hunter Blackwell, trapeze artist and illusionist extraordinaire…kind of." I stepped back between Voice One, who I now realised was Danny, and Voice Three, whose Starbucks cup informed me that she was called Henley. "I assume we're all here for the same reasons." I took another couple of bites of my burger, finishing it off and dropping the box down the stairs. Hey, it wasn't like one bit of cardboard was gonna wreck the décor.

"Looks like it," Henley said, looking vaguely relieved that there was another female here.

"So we're all here because we're into the beauty of the magical arts," I said ironically, my voice slightly muffled by the food still in my mouth. "How fun. Hey, you're an escape artist, right?" I added to Henley, swallowing, her face now suddenly clicking into my brain. "From LA? I've seen some YouTube videos of your stuff. You are so awesome."

"Aw, thanks," she smiled. "I used to be Danny's assistant, but he thought I was too fat." I did not miss the bitterness in her voice.

"Harsh, man," I said, raising my eyebrows at Danny. "If there is one thing you never, _ever _say to a woman, it's that she's fat."

"No, I said that one time!" Danny said defensively. "Because of the trapdoor!"

"No one could fit through there!" protested Henley. "No one!"

"Rebecca fit through," retorted Danny. "Rebecca fit for years."

"And that's rule number two broken," I said. "Never compare a girl to another girl! Do you know _nothing_ about women?!"

"Probably not," muttered Henley, and I giggled.

"Okay, so he never made you feel special," Merritt said to Henley. "And, trust me, you deserve to be made to feel special." Wow. He already had a thing for her. Smooth worker…not.

"That's a really nice story," Danny said sarcastically. "I hope you guys enjoy each other's company." We'd all been so caught up in the unfurling events that none of us noticed the newcomer behind us until they spoke.

"_No way_," the new person breathed out, sounding awe-struck. "_J. Daniel Atlas_?!" Holy shit. I knew that voice. That deep, male, distinctive voice. But it couldn't be. No way… "Dude, I have seen everything you have ever done! You're like…I idolise you! Seriously!" Henley and Danny had already turned to look at the new guy, Danny thanking him for being a fan, but I turned slowly, hardly daring to believe it until my green eyes met with his brown ones.

"_Jack_?!" I shrieked excitedly, knocking Danny into the wall with my satchel as I hopped over to Jack to give him a hug. "OMG, no way! I didn't expect to ever see you again! This is so totally amazing!"

"Hey Hunter," he said happily, hugging me back. "Good to see you again!" _Not as nice as it is to see your beautiful face again…_ And I was off into the world of Hunter Can't Control Her Hormones. I was kind of surprised at myself for hugging him, even more so at him hugging me back; we'd met and spoken all of once, for five minutes over a week ago.

"I can't believe you're here!" I squealed. "I mean, not that I don't think you're good or anything because I told you last week that I thought your tricks are seriously decent so obviously you're good enough and talented enough to be here, that isn't what I'm saying, it's just that I'm really happy to see you again-" oh my God, I was babbling so much! _Shut the hell up! Now! _I tailed off to slow stop, feeling my cheeks flare up in embarrassment.

"Well if you're here too, I can't be that bad," he joked. "I'm not the one who's basically Spider-Man. I'm Jack, by the way," he added to the others.

I could see Henley, Merritt and Danny eying up and evaluating the situation between Jack and I, but they all kept their mouths shut. "Question: did you get one of these?" Merritt asked, pointing at his own Tarot card.

"Oh yeah," Jack said, rifling through his pockets until he found his, which he showed to us. "Death."

"The High Priestess," said Henley, holding up hers.

"The Hanged Man," I said, holding mine up with a flourish.

"The Lover," Danny said, and Henley mock-coughed, "Three minutes!"

"Ooooh, burn!" I laughed, giving Henley a high-five.

"Hermit," announced Merritt, clearly kind of affronted.

"So what are we…are we waiting for someone?" asked Jack.

"Yeah, good point," I said. "Why are we all just chilling in a dingy corridor that smells like pee?"

"The door's locked," the other three answered simultaneously.

"Oh right," I said. "It probably would have been helpful for whoever instigated this to leave us a note saying where the key was, rather than leaving us locked out here."

Jack grinned impishly. "Oh, no; nothing's ever locked," he told us, moving towards the door. Henley, Merritt, Danny and myself all exchanged varying looks of WTF as Jack pulled something out of his pocket and crouched down by the lock. About five seconds later, the door swung open, revealing an almost pitch black room.

"Damn, boy," I said appreciatively as Danny switched on a flashlight and Henley and I switched on the flashlights on our phones. "You're just the gift that keeps on spouting new tricks, aren't you?" We grinned at each other as we all tentatively stepped into the abandoned apartment.

"What is this place?" Henley said breathily.

"Looks like an empty torture chamber," I muttered, pushing open the first door I saw. "Holy Jesus!" I groaned, reeling back as I was hit by a pretty disgusting stench. I'd opened the door to a filthy bathroom.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Henley, peering over my shoulder.

"Nope, I gotta get away from here!" I declared, closing the door quickly and stepping back into the group as we made our way down the hallway. We found ourselves in what looked like an old abandoned studio flat, still furnished. Furnished with gross, filthy furniture, sure, but furnished nonetheless.

"Wow," said Merritt, raking his eyes over the room. "And I thought my apartment was nasty."

"Man, it's freezing in here," said Jack, rubbing his hands together. He had a point. I could vaguely see my breath coming out in little clouds every time I spoke or breathed out heavily. My God, had these people never heard of a utilities bill?!

"What's that?" Henley suddenly asked, looking down. We all followed her gaze.

A symbol of some kind was set into the floor. It was simple but intricate, basic but stunning, all at the same time; three rectangles set at different heights with a straight line going through them, linking them together. A single white rose lay at the base of the symbol, next to a heavy white card. A vase half-filled with water sat away, to the left of the symbol.

"I don't know," murmured Danny, picking up the card.

"What's it say?" Merritt asked him as we looked over his shoulder at the card.

"'Now you don't'," Danny replied, looking at Jack and me in confusion.

"Don't look at me, man," I said, raising my hands. "I'm about as clued into this as you are."

Henley reached down and picked up the white rose. "'A rose by any other name'," she quoted from _Romeo and Juliet_, and dropped the flower into the vase.

"'Would smell as sweet'," I finished, though my voice trailed off very abruptly when we all saw the water leaking out of the vase the second the flower hit the glass bottom, though there were clearly no cracks in the glass whatsoever. "Holy crap!"

We all quickly stepped back from the water like it was sulphuric acid. "Guys, what's happening?" asked Jack, and I looked at him and shrugged.

"Whoa," Merritt exclaimed as instead of trickling around the floor haphazardly, the water filtered into the symbol in the floor. "Look at that."

"Whoa," Danny nervously laughed. The water oozed its way around the whole symbol, and the second that it was totally covered, the flooring in the symbol appeared to give way, and a load of steam or smoke or something seeped up from within the opening.

"Oh Christ, what is that?!" I shrieked, taking a couple more steps back and accidentally stepping on Jack's foot and slamming my back into his chest at the same time.

"It's gas!" said Jack, panicked.

"Oh my God, we're all gonna die!" I yelled, covering my mouth and nose with my hands to not breathe anything in.

"Relax!" ordered Merritt. "It's just dry ice."

"…Oh," I said, feeling stupid.

"Cool!" said Henley admiringly.

"Wait, what do you think this is all about?" Danny asked, apparently the practical thinker of the group.

"Hang on, hang on," said Merritt, lifting a hand to his head and closing his eyes. We waited expectantly for a few seconds, staring at him. He let out a disappointed hissy noise. "I got nothing."

"Okay, thank you," Danny said sarcastically, sounding pissed off. "Thank you for the delay."

"Oh, chill out!" I said exasperatedly. "At least he gave it a shot! I don't see _you _doing anything to try and find out why the hell we're here!" Danny was really beginning to rub me up the wrong way.

"I'm just trying to create the space for wisdom," Merritt retorted.

"Danny, be honest," said Henley doubtfully. "Did you do this?"

"No! Wait, did you?" Danny asked Jack.

"I wish," said Jack, looking and sounding highly impressed. "Hunter, was it you?"

"Dude, I swing from a few bars hanging from the ceiling and pretend to die," I pointed out. "I'm not bloody Harry Potter."

"Why didn't anyone ask me if I did it?" demanded Merritt. We all just looked around awkwardly. "Oh, great."

"Well did you do it?" I asked him.

"Nope," he replied, popping the 'p'. "But it's the principal." I rolled my eyes and tried to switch on a light switch on the wall. Henley, Jack and Danny all did the same. The light didn't come on.

"Electricity's out," called Jack from the kitchenette.

"Well, let's check," said Merritt, reaching up into the 1970s glass lampshade and twisting one of the bulbs. It came on, glowing a dull amber.

Suddenly, an almost blindingly bright beam of blue light shot out from somewhere down the hallway where Danny was, followed by more beams originating from the walls. One shot out from behind Merritt, behind Henley and from between me and Jack. The beams met together in the middle of the room, and began to form something.

There were shapes, building designs, writing. They were plans. The picture was huge, taking up a good three metre square that we all stood around, mesmerised by it. It was a hologram, but it almost looked solid. Who the hell had technology like this in this day and age?!

"Blueprints," said Henley.

"They're incredible," murmured Danny.

I blinked heavily. "The colours and techiness of this is making me feel like I'm on an LSD trip." Four pairs of eyes swivelled over to me. "Not that I've ever taken LSD, that is!" I added hastily. "Or any drugs!" I cleared my throat awkwardly. "What _is _this thing?"

"Who do you think did this?" added Jack.

"I don't know, but I really wanna meet them!" said Henley, enthralled.

The shapes and sketches in the hologram all began to merge together, forming an actual coherent plan for something. I caught sight of the words 'Five Horsemen', 'stage', 'bank', 'Paris' and 'Las Vegas.'

"I think…" I said slowly. "I think it's for a show." There, in the middle of the hologram, was the symbol that had been set into the floor.

* * *

**A/N- I can't believe how much of a response I got for the last chapter! I've never had that before, that is so awesome! Thank you so much, I could not appreciate it more! I hope you enjoyed Chapter Two, because I certainly enjoyed writing it! Leave a review letting me know what you thought, I can't tell you how much it would mean to me! Xx Gee xX**


	3. Vegas, Baby

**A/N- The response I'm getting for this is amazing! You all make me feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside! Super thanks to Annabethwisegirl12, johnmaine (x2), .ivy and km for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter Three- Vegas, Baby**

_**One Year Later  
Paris, France**_

Paris was beautiful. The Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysées, the Arc de Triomphe…and I couldn't go to see any of it. It was exactly two weeks until our first show in Las Vegas, and here, now, in France, we had two days to finish up the final details; details we had spent the last eleven and a half months fine-tuning.

I'd never, ever been a part of something that required such copious amounts of military-like techniques. Everything we were about to do was planned to a T. It was quite simple, when you really thought about it; we trail the French dude and use a few simple hypnosis tricks to persuade him to go to Vegas and see the show.

Yeah, as simple as stealing from a bank. Oh no, wait. We were going to do that too. I asked myself the following question nearly every day: what had I gotten myself into?

"Guys, I'm not sure I really feel comfortable doing this," I muttered, attaching the Bluetooth earpiece and testing that it worked.

"For God's sake, Hunter," Danny said exasperatedly, who was practicing flipping a poker chip with his thumb into his palm. "You've been saying that for the last twelve hours. We get it!"

"Well _sooo-rry _that I'm not overly comfortable with robbing a bank and pinning it on some French dude we've never met!" I retorted, clenching my fists. A year later, and Danny and I still didn't see eye-to-eye at all. Quite simply, I thought he was a total egotistical dickhead, and he thought I was an annoying childish British girl lost in the big pond of the USA.

"Come on, Hunt, it's not gonna be that bad," Jack said soothingly, placing his hand on my elbow.

Now, Jack. Jack and I certainly saw eye-to-eye. I'd never been as close to anybody in my life as I was to Jack Wilder. He wasn't my boyfriend or anything, more like my total best friend. We'd begun hanging out together at first simply because we were the youngest of the Five Horsemen; Henley and Danny were both in their late-twenties and Merritt was nearing on his late-forties.

When we started out in the group last year, Jack was twenty-two and I was twenty. We had similar interests and really just got on well. I still found him ridiculously hot- how could I not?- but I didn't want to develop any feelings for him and risk jeopardizing our friendship. Of course, then we both got totally and utterly shitfaced on my twenty-first birthday last August and had ended up making out.

It had gotten real awkward the morning after, both of us with stinking hangovers, unable to look each other in the eye, let alone speak. It stayed like that for about three days until I eventually plucked up the courage to talk to him about it. We both agreed it had meant nothing, that it was just a drunken kiss that didn't represent any other feelings for each other whatsoever.

Things between us went back to normal pretty quickly after that, but something had changed in me. I found myself getting butterflies whenever Jack smiled at me or touched me, and my heart swooped whenever we were alone. I wasn't stupid; I knew I had developed a crush on my best friend. Fan-bloody-tastic.

I couldn't tell him, of course I couldn't. It would ruin everything between us. So I kept my mouth shut, and prayed the feelings would go away. They wouldn't. If anything, they were growing stronger. But I pushed them down, crushed them under the self-persuasion that Jack was my best friend, my brother from another mother, and nothing more.

"It is so gonna be that bad!" I told him now, placing my hand over his. "I swear to God, if we get caught in that armoured van then I'm pinning all of this on _you_!" I jabbed Jack playfully in the chest.

"That's cool, I'll just tell the cops you were the accomplice," he shot back, grabbing my hand and moving my arm across my chest so his arm was around my shoulders and we were in a kind of one-armed hug-type embrace-thingy.

"If that's the case, then I'm just batting my eyelashes at them and looking innocent," I laughed, pouting up at Jack. "How can you arrest this face?"

"Now, if you don't mind me breaking up the violently flattened romantic atmosphere around the two of you," Merritt interrupted dryly. "We should probably be on our way to look out for the French guy, if that's okay with you." Goddamn Merritt and his goddamn mentalism! It had been fun at first, but now it was just getting annoying.

"Is everyone clear on the plan?" Henley checked.

We all made varying noises of 'yes'. "Merritt goes past talking about Vegas on his phone, Danny walks by flipping his chip, Jack and I walk past as a couple discussing our 'vacation' in Vegas in French, then you bump into him, grab his face and stuff to get his measurements, yeah?" I asked, and she nodded. "Okay then. Do I look French enough for this?" I twirled round like a model, showcasing my black and white gingham leggings, black lace shirt, red blazer and red stilettos. "Should I get a beret?"

"I think that's a little obvious," Henley said, but she smiled, adjusting her hat and glasses.

"If you guys are done messing around," Danny said snappishly. "We need to go."

* * *

The Paris streets were bustling; almost as busy as New York in the afternoon. I lost count of the amount of _Café de Whatever_s and _La Patisserie du Blah-de-Blah_s that I saw after the fourteenth, each one packed to the brim with boyfriends and girlfriends, honeymooners, elderly couples on their anniversary…it made my heart ache. I hadn't had a boyfriend since I was seventeen, not that I was sure he had even counted as a boyfriend since we'd dated for all of a month.

The five of us had been wandering through the streets for a good half hour, and I was beginning to think that we'd missed Mr Etienne Forcier or whatever the hell his name was.

"Guys, I'm getting a bad feeling about this," I said into my earpiece, leaning against the wall on the middle platform of a set of concrete steps where Jack and I were waiting for our cue. "I think we missed the guy."

"You worry too much, Hunter," said Henley from her position at the bottom of the stairs. "This is gonna be fine."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Merritt's voice came through the earpiece. "We got 'im."

"Get in there," Danny's voice crackled in. "We've got five minutes to plant this. Go!"

We all waited a few moments, until Merritt's voice came back through the earpiece, distantly saying, "Viva Las Vegas!" His pretence was that he was on the phone to someone. "Danny, you're up," he said quickly.

"On it," he replied. I looked up from where Jack and I were, as Danny was only four step sets above us. He was walking swiftly, nonchalantly flipping his poker chip up and down in his right hand. Etienne- at least, I'm pretty sure it was Etienne. He was identical to the photo we'd been given- started coming down the stairs as Danny went up them, and I saw him clock the poker chip as he passed.

"That's our cue," I murmured to Jack, who nodded. He wrapped his arm tightly around my shoulders, stroking the top of my arm whilst I put my arm around his waist and looked adoringly up at him.

"_Las Vegas était si belle, est-ce pas? Le spectacle de magie était incroyable_!" I twittered wistfully when we were about three foot away from Etienne, which meant 'Las Vegas was so beautiful, wasn't it? The magic show was incredible!'

"_Oui, c'était génial! Nous devrions revenir pour notre lune de miel_," Jack replied, which translated into 'yeah, it was great! We should back go for our honeymoon.' I saw Etienne look back at us as he passed, taking in what we had said.

As soon as we were out of his earshot, I said, "Right, we've done our bit! Henley, it's your turn!" into my earpiece.

"Already on the move," she answered, and sure enough, not too long after that we heard her say, "Oh, pardon moi, monsieur!" followed swiftly by a hushed, "I got his measurements!"

"Regroup back at the hotel!" Danny was quick to order. "We need to get-" I shut my earpiece off and tugged it out of my ear.

"Why'd you do that?" Jack asked, frowning at me as he listened to Danny harping on.

I shrugged. "He was annoying me."

* * *

We waited until dark. We'd been given the careful instructions of where the shipment of fresh bank notes was going to be, and what time they were going to be loaded into the armoured van heading for the Credit Republicain de Paris. Just like the mind-plant, this had been planned like a CIA mission.

"Come on, come on, come on!" I begged. "Can we _please _get this over and done with!? I want to go back to America tomorrow, not be lead to the Paris jail."

"Hunter, seriously, will you shut up?" Danny snapped at me, handing me a syringe filled with chloroform before giving one to Henley. "The only way we'll get caught is if security hear your loud mouth!"

"Danny, seriously," I mocked petulantly. "You are beginning to irritate me now!" I warned, stashing the (sealed) syringe in the pocket of my black jeans and tugging a pair of black gloves on my hands. "So back the hell up before I use this chloroform on you and dump your unconscious arse in the Seine."

"Woah, woah, woah," Jack said to me comfortingly. "Just calm down."

"I'm trying," I replied, breathing heavily in and out of my nose. "Seriously trying. Can't you see I'm trying?!"

"Yeah, you're trying, alright," I heard Danny mutter, so I shot him the finger without looking away from Jack.

"Guys, seriously, we need to do this now," Henley said, gently but firmly. She had opened up the specialised trolley we'd brought and laid down in it, in the middle. I shook my head back, took in another calming-ish breath and slid in next to her left, whilst Danny took the right. Thank God for the slits in the metal, because when Merritt and Jack closed the top of the trolley on us, I started feeling very claustrophobic.

"We'll see you guys in a while," Merritt called through the slats once he and Jack had finished piling the money on top of the trolley. "And Hunter, calm down, you won't run outta air any time soon!"

"Screw you, Merritt!" I shouted, and I heard him and Jack laugh as they quickly vacated the area.

It felt like hours passed; we couldn't move, couldn't talk, could scarcely _breathe _loudly in case someone came in and busted us. So we waited. To be fair, we were only in there about half an hour before we heard the security team filter in, talking about stuff in French. We couldn't see what they were doing until we felt our trolley being wheeled along the floor, then it was lifted up and practically dumped into the armoured van.

There were two guards in the van with us; the two people Henley and I clearly had to chloroform-inject. I twisted my head as best I could to look at her and Danny, and Danny held up both his hands (well, he raised them about two inches as that was all the space we had) with his fingers splayed to indicate we had to wait ten minutes before Merritt would stop the van and we could take action.

The rhythmic shaking of the van as it drove along was actually soothing. I was fighting not to fall asleep. I had to stifle a yawn pretty quickly or risk blowing everything. My eyes did actually flutter shut, but the van shudder to a pretty abrupt joke, and I snapped awake. I looked at Henley, who nodded, and we both stuck our arms out of the trolley- me to my right, her above her head- and injected the confused passing guards with the chloroform, knocking them out instantly.

"Well that was easier than expected," I observed as we pushed the trolley open, the stacks of money- and the guard that had collapsed on to the pile of money- falling either side, though a couple of cash bundles did fall on us.

"Hey boys!" Henley called as the back doors of the van squeaked open, revealing Merritt in his French traffic cop uniform and Jack, who was wearing a nondescript, unsuspicious ensemble of dark jeans and a black leather jacket. Seeing how uncomfortable Merritt looked in his get-up, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. He scowled.

"Sorry, sorry!" I quickly apologized, attempting to manoeuvre my way into a sitting position but instead I was stuck wriggling around like a turtle on its back. "Oh Christ! Jack, help!" I stuck my hands up and waited for him to grab them and pull me up. There was no time to actually have a proper conversation once I was up and functional, as we had to speedily fill up a ton of holdalls with the three million-plus worth of Euros, then replace the aforementioned Euros with false notes that were stored in the trunk of our rental car.

We all quickly piled into the car, Danny driving with Merritt riding shotgun, then Henley, Jack and I squished into the back. Danny pressed down on the accelerator so fiercely that we literally screeched away from the scene in a totally cliché manner. The force of it jolted us all so violently that Henley and Merritt both headbutted the windows and Jack and I cracked our heads together.

"Son of a _bitch_!" I muttered, rubbing at my forehead as we sped off into the Paris night. Tomorrow, it was back to America. We had a show to rehearse.

* * *

_**Two weeks later…  
Las Vegas, Nevada**_

"MERRITT MCKINNEY," a booming voice announced over upbeat techno music. Merritt appeared, looking out with a straight face, wearing a black suit and a bowler hat.

"DANIEL ATLAS." Danny's face flashed up; he was also pokerfaced, dressed to the nines in a black and navy dinner jacket, trousers and dark shirt.

"HENLEY REEVES." Next up was Henley, pouting in her black leather dress, high heels, blazer and fingerless gloves.

"JACK WILDER." Jack got his close up. He was smirking, dressed up in black trousers, a black shirt and suspenders.

"HUNTER BLACKWELL." There I was, grinning and flashing a peace sign, rocking a black net dress with a silver sequined top and elaborately decorated sheer heels.

"Arthur Tressler and the MGM Grand proudly presents-" The five of us strode purposely forwards, and Jack threw a playing card that split and spread across the screen, merging back to reveal our logo. "The Five Horsemen!"

It was show time.

* * *

I'd made it. I'd finally made it. Here I was, twenty-one years old, actually performing at the MGM Grand stadium in Las Vegas. Back home, I would have been laughed at for ever even contemplating this. But here, standing on the round stage in the middle of thousands of cheering people, it wasn't just a contemplation; it was reality.

"Thank you!" Merritt thanked the shouting crowd. "Tonight we would like to try something that, well, will set us a bit apart!"

"For our final trick," said Henley, pacing the stage. "We're gonna do something never before seen on a Las Vegas stage!"

"Or any stage, for that matter!" added Jack.

"Well, they always say that variety is the spice of life!" I quipped, and the audiences laughed and cheered a bit more. _Oh, thank God! New jokes!_

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Danny addressed. "Tonight…we are going are going to rob a bank!" Cue badass-sounding techno-bass music kicking in and screaming from the audience. "That's a lot of excitement for a crime!"

"What, you're telling me you're not excited for this, Danny-Boy?" I called to him. "You soulless monster! I'm buzzing like an old fridge!" More laughs, and we all laughed too; well, Danny excluded. He just rolled his eyes at me.

"I'm getting excited!" announced Henley. "What about you people?!" she shouted to the crowd, and there were various whoops and yells of agreement back.

Jack and Merritt began running towards each other on the lower level of the stage, and from where I was, on the raised section, I began to do several front handsprings towards them.

"One, two, three!" we counted, and on three, Jack and Merritt jumped up to high-five. When their hands clapped together, I launched myself from the level via a regular handspring, doing a somersault right over them and landing on my heeled feet. However, I landed a little too forcefully and the heel of my left show snapped clean off.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, was our resident gymnast, Hunter!" Merritt said, so I giggled and curtsied before gaping down at my shoe.

"Oh my God!" I cried, putting on a stereotypical Texan drawl. "I broke a heel! This is so _tragic_!"

"Well let me help with that," offered Jack, so I did a backflip to kick the shoe off, which landed on the floor at his feet, followed by the heel itself. Jack picked up the heel-less shoe and the dis-attached heel, flashed a grin at me and threw them both up about twenty feet into the air. The heel vanished, and the shoe sailed back down, looking as though it was going to smack Jack directly in the face, but instead he caught it easily with one hand, the heel magically reattached.

"My hero," I laughed, kissing him on the cheek and slipping the shoe back on as the audience went crazy.

"Okay, okay! Now please, please, settle down!" Danny requested the audience. "Now, who here has a bank they would like us to rob?" Practically every hand in the crowd went up, people crying out, "Pick me! Pick me!"

"Wow, that's a lot of people with a vendetta," Danny commented.

"You all hate your banks that much?" I remarked, then put on a thoughtful facial expression. "Stupid question, actually. How we gonna pick this, guys?"

"I guess we'll choose one at random," replied Danny. "My associates will make sure it's random, right?"

"Associates?!" I repeated in mock-outrage. "Daniel Atlas, I thought we were friends!" That cued Danny's second eye roll of the night. Meanwhile, Jack, Henley and Merritt had all collected the containers filled with numbered and lettered ping-pong balls that would 'decide' the seat we chose.

"Elvis," Jack drawled at a stereotypical Vegas Elvis impersonator, holding his container down into the crowd. "Help me out, bud."

"In Jack's bowl are ping-pong balls with section numbers," Danny informed the audience. "Jack, could you hand me a section number?"

Jack hurled a ball at Danny, but I jumped up and caught it with a yell of, "INTERVENTION!", doing a tuck-and-roll when I landed.

"Okay then, Hunter, can_ you_ please read me the section number?" Danny asked exasperatedly.

"I sure can," I replied smugly, peering at the ball. "We are looking at Section B. Section B, where you at?!" The uproar to my left informed me where Section B was located.

"Okay, there," said Danny, turning to them. "It's gonna be one of you guys. Get ready." Everyone was still going crazy at the thought of us actually robbing a bank. "I don't know why everybody's happy, it's only them. Merritt, to avoid turning this into a football game, can you please throw a row number at Hunter, please?"

Wordlessly, Merritt threw his ping-pong ball at me. It bounced once before I closed my hands around it. "And we have Row Five!" I revealed, holding up the ball.

"Where is that?" Danny peered into the audience, and the appropriate row started waving their arms around and whooping. "And Henley, could you please give Hunter a random seat number?"

Henley took her ping-pong ball from the member of the audience that had palmed it out of the container and tossed it to me, and I managed to catch it one-handed. "Aaand it's Seat Thirteen!" I declared.

"Ah, lucky number thirteen," said Danny. "B-Five-Thirteen, where are you?" he asked, gesturing alone Row Five until a spotlight came to rest on none other than Mr Etienne Forcier. "Sir, please stand up! Ah, there you are. Hi." Etienne stood up and was handed a microphone. He looked slightly perplexed.

"So, sir, could you please confirm that this is your seat?" I asked him, holding up the ping-pong balls in order. "B-Five-Thirteen, yeah?"

"Yes," he said with a nod.

"Fabulous," I said, throwing the balls up into the air and letting them scatter around the stage, earning me some more laughs. Huh, maybe I could have leant towards being a comedienne.

"Now, could you please tell us your name and the name of your bank?" Danny requested him. Because we obviously had _no _idea who he was or where he came from. Obviously.

"Well, my name is Etienne Forcier," he replied. "And my bank, it's Credit Republicain de Paris."

"French. Okay, uh," said Danny in trepidation. I'd never realised how good an actor he was before. "We were hoping for something a little more local, a kind of mom-and-pop credit union with no security, but that's fine. A promise is a promise. Could you please come up to the stage and we'll, er, we'll rob your bank." Etienne began to make his way across his row and out of it, struggling past the masses of people.

"And while he does that," Danny continued. "There is someone here tonight without whom we would just be five magicians working the circuit, trying to get…well, actually, trying to get here. You probably know this man, if not from one of the many, many companies he puts his name on. He is our friend, he is our benefactor; Mr Arthur Tressler. Please, stand up Art. Please stand up." The five of us had now all grouped together on the stage as a spotlight shone up on to one of the balconies, revealing the elder yet dapper Arthur Tressler to the audience.

"The only man here with the Queen's cell phone number," joked Merritt as Arthur stood up and regally waved at the audience.

"And, of course, my fellow Brit," I put in with a grin. "Care for a cup of tea, Art?" I heard him laugh heartily.

"Actually, please stay standing, Art," said Danny. "I want to say that when we came to Mr Tressler, we promised that, as a unit, we could become the biggest name in magic."

"So we wanted to say thank you," Henley added warmly. "And by the way, Art, you notice on the sign out front, we made sure we put your name at the top."

"If you turn out to be as good as you think you are, dear girl," Arthur replied. "That won't be necessary much longer."

"Well, my good man," I shot back. "We don't think, we _know_!"

"And we haven't done our closer yet," Henley interposed. "Why don't you watch it and then you can decide for yourself. Ladies and gentlemen, Arthur Tressler!" she wrapped up, gesturing up at Arthur with a flourish.

"Thank you," said Danny. "And of course, once again, the Cardinal of Clairvoyance, Merritt McKinney." By now, Etienne had already reached the stage and had been talking quietly to Merritt whilst the rest of us had introduced Arthur.

"Etienne, what Jack is bringing to the stage now is what we in the magic world call a teleportation helmet," Merritt informed the Frenchman whilst Jack held up the helmet for all the spectators to see. "You will need to wear this as it will allow you to literally fold through space and time to your bank in the…eighth?" Etienne jerked his head slightly. "Ninth!…arrondissement. Now, once you're there, we will be able to speak with you through this helmet. Now, if…oh!" Merritt paused as Jack slid the helmet on to Etienne's head. He looked, to put it bluntly, ridiculous. "Oh my God, that's beautiful!"

"That is some Chanel-looking stuff right there," I agreed with a giggle whilst the audience laughed around us.

"This helmet has the added attraction of being very stylish," Merritt told him. "It's about time the French learned from America on that subject. Is that a beautiful piece of headgear?" Merritt asked the audience, displaying Etienne to them, who looked vaguely uncomfortable now.

"It is," Danny concurred.

"Thank you, thank you very much!" Etienne thanked the cheering audience.

"_Mais oui, mais oui_," Merritt joked in a pretty decent French accent.

Henley, Danny and I hurried up the steps to join them all on the upper stage. "But, before you go anywhere," Danny said, stepping in front of Etienne, holding a pack of cards out to him. "Could you please pick a card, any card?" Etienne went to choose one. "Not that card!" Danny cracked a grin. "No, that's just an old American joke. You can take that one."

"Okay. This one," Etienne decided, pulling a card out of the deck.

"Now, show it to your friends in Section B," Danny directed. "But not to us." The five of us turned our backs as Etienne presumably held up the card. "Okay, now, if you could just sign your name there," Danny continued once we turned around. "In English, if possible."

"Um, couldn't that be classed as racist?" I questioned.

"I'm only kidding," Danny said irately whilst Etienne scribbled his name down on the card.

"That's good," Merritt said to Etienne.

"Put that in your pocket," instructed Danny, and Etienne did just that.

"And now for one tiny detail," announced Henley. We five each brandished a black silk scarf and threw them into the middle of the stage. But instead of just wafting to the floor, the scarves appeared to take on a life of their own and started swooping and swirling around the stage, bunching together in the middle before disappearing up into the ceiling, revealing a very large, mechanical-looking device.

"Ta daaa!" I sang whilst we applauded.

"Now, Etienne, let's step into this cockamamie contraption," directed Merritt, helping Etienne up on to the device's platform. "Aaand I'll step off it. _Bonne chance_." Jack and Danny stepped forward to pull down the net screen of the device, shrouding Etienne. "It's eleven fifty PM here in Vegas. That's eight fifty AM in Paris. Your bank opens in less than ten minutes."

"One," I counted, taking a couple of steps back so I was standing away from the machine and next to Jack.

"Two," said Jack.

"Three!" finished Henley, pressing the teleport button for the device. There was a flash of light, and the contraption snapped shut so violently that the stage almost shook under the force. Everyone gasped in shocked terror, us not the least.

"What the fuck?!" exclaimed Merritt.

"Woah! Etienne?" called Danny.

"Etienne?" Henley also called.

"Holy shit, I think we killed him!" I cried.

"It wasn't supposed to happen like that, was it?" Merritt asked, confused.

"Etienne?" Henley called out again.

"I liked that little French guy…" mused Merritt. "Where'd he go?"

"Hellooo?" I shouted. "Etienne! If you're still breathing, give us a sign!"

The huge screens placed around the stadium suddenly crackled to life, removing our headshots and replacing them with the video feed from Etienne's camera. "Wait, there he is!" pointed out Danny, and the audience cheered, though whether it was for the trick or the fact Etienne was alive, I did not know. "No, no, no, no, please, please, please," Danny shushed them, before speaking into his walkie-talkie connected to Etienne's helmet. "This is Daniel Atlas. Can you hear me? Etienne, are you okay?"

"Yes," Etienne replied, sounding dazed.

"Perfect. What do you see in there?"

"Money." Etienne now sounded totally disbelieving. "Is this real?"

"Yes, looks like three million or so Euros' worth."

"Three point two, actually, but who's counting?" I said, shrugging. Etienne laughed out something nervously in French that I couldn't understand.

"Okay, now here's what we're gonna need you to do," Danny instructed him. "I want you to take the card that you signed out of your pocket, and I want you to take the ticket stub from tonight's show, and I want you to put it right there in the middle of the money." On the video feed, Etienne did so, holding the card and stub above a break in the stack. "Now drop it." Etienne let go of the pieces of paper and they slipped into the centre of the money heap. "Now, on the side of your helmet you should feel a button. Don't press it just yet. That button activates an air duct that connects Paris to Las Vegas." Etienne located the button and put his finger to it. "Okay good, now you can press it."

"Alright, now Etienne, hold on tight," Jack told him. "You might feel a bit of a vacuum!" There was a pause in which absolutely nothing happened. The video feed disconnected, and it was almost silent in the stadium.

"Did it not work?" I frowned. "Oh my God, did he break the air duct?"

"Oh, wait a second!" said Danny, holding up a hand. There was a distant rumbling noise, and suddenly thousands and thousands of Euro notes were drifting down from the ducts above the stadium, landing anywhere and everywhere. The audience jumped to their feet, cheering and desperately trying to grab hold of as much money as they could.

Danny, Henley, Merritt, Jack and I all looked around the room, laughing breathlessly, taking in the sight of the audience stuffing note after note in their pockets. I felt kind of warm on the inside- I think it was pride. The feeling was amazing though; I could barely describe it.

"Thank you, Etienne!" called Danny, waving. "Thank you, everyone!"

"We are The Five Horsemen!" we shouted in unison.

"And good night!" cried Henley, fist-pumping the air.

"Good night!" I yelled, jumping up and down a few times. The five of us grasped hands- Jack at the end, then me, Danny, Merritt and Henley at the other end- and took a bow. We'd done it. We'd really, truly, honestly done it.

* * *

**A/N- And that is the first show done! I hope you liked my take on Etienne's…mind control? Would you call it that? Oh, I don't know, the Paris scene, anyhoo. You guys are being incredible with the reviews, I would absolutely **_**love **_**it if you kept it going like that! Reviews make me feel so validated! Xx Gee xX**

**PS- Don't forget to check out my Polyvore collection, the link is on my profile!**

**PPS- I probably won't update for a good week or so, as starting tomorrow I need to get some **_**serious **_**revision done for my AS Level exams, which start on Monday and carry on till the 20****th****. Wish me luck!**


	4. Good Cop, Bad Cop

**A/N- Guess who's nearly finished all her AS Level exams? *points at self* This girl! Man, those things are like torture. But still, almost all done now, just Psychology left, and then I have a nice, seriously deserved three week break from school, so that's fun! More writing time, am I right? Huge thanks to tangle-of-ivy, kadee son 12345 and Guest for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter Four- Good Cop, Bad Cop**

"Urgh, _no_! You're doing it _wrong_!" I whined. "The point of playing Slapsies is to _not _let me hit you! When you see me about to slap, move your hands!"

"Is there any point to this game?" Jack asked wearily, wincing when my palm connected with his hand after failing to avoid me _again_. "I don't think I like this."

"If you played it properly then it wouldn't be causing you so much pain, would it?" I retorted, pulling my hands back from Jack's slap. "Dude. You suck. I mean, no offence, but you well and truly suck at this game."

"I'm tired," he protested.

"I'm pretty sure we're _all _tired!" called Merritt from his position sprawled out on the sofa, chilling with a book in his pyjamas. "It woulda have been easier for us all to sleep if you two hadn't been yelling to each other through the wall all night!"

"Hey, when I get excited, I can't sleep!" I objected. "I have the mindset of a small child when I get all hyped up! Forgive me! And we were not 'yelling!' We were just chatting!" Though to be fair, I had irritated myself last night. Or at least, the past-me had certainly irritated the present-me. It was now about half ten in the morning, and I was so tired that I wasn't actually dressed either. Instead, I was mooching around our suite in the Aria Hotel in my red sweatpants-and-tank-top pyjamas from Victoria's Secret. I barely had a scrap of makeup on- just some eyeliner and concealer- and my hair was scraped back into a ponytail.

"Don't you think it's time to get over the pretty lights and the magic?" Danny suggested scathingly. "You're twenty-one, not thirteen."

"'You're twenty-one, not thirteen'," I mimicked childishly. "Yeah, and you're twenty-eight, so quit acting like my mum!" I stood up and stretched, my tank top riding up a little and exposing the stars along my hipbone.

I couldn't help but notice Jack blush a little, and when I looked at him properly he quickly averted his eyes away. _Hm, now was it me or did Jack just steal a bit of a stare? _Probably not. It was me and my wishful thinking, more than likely. "I'm going to help Henley and pack my stuff. Catch you guys on the flipside. Lates." I turned and flitted up the stairs, heading into my room first.

I grabbed all my clothes and my red-and-white polka dot trolley case and dragged them all into Henley's room, where she herself was surrounded by clothes, only a few of which were actually folded into her (more generic) black case.

"Sometimes I think we need to listen to the boys more often," I said, dumping my case on Henley's bed. "They had all their crap packed last night when we got back."

"We're girls, we don't need to listen," Henley replied. "And besides, we have more clothes, so it takes more time." She folded up a black shirt and placed it gently in her case, flicking her red hair over her shoulder when she straightened up. Urgh, Henley always managed to look so effortlessly pretty. Here she was, having barely been awake three hours, and she looked knockout-stunning in her black cigarette trousers, simple black top and heels. It almost physically hurt to look at her.

In contrast, I looked like I'd just rolled out of a drug den after a three-day bender. Seriously, if we hadn't been such good friend I would have killed her and cut her face off to wear as my own.

"I only brought like half my wardrobe!" I said, beginning to fold up various pairs of jeans and t-shirts. "I don't have _that _many clothes!"

"Hunter," she began delicately, holding up a scrap of sparkly red material. "You bought a sarong."

"Yeah, well, I didn't know if we'd have time to go chill out by the pool!" I said defensively, snatching the offending item from her hand and stuffing it into my case.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" said Henley suddenly.

"I'm pretty sure you just did. Oh! Aay! Self-five!" I laughed, clapping my hands together once above my head. "No, but in all seriousness, of course you can. Ask away."

"What exactly is going on between you and Jack?"

Woah woah woah WOAH. Of all the questions Henley could have asked me, I certainly was _not _expect it to be that! My heart rate started going crazy, and I was trying and failing to keep a blush down. So I feigned casualness. "Why- why do you ask?"

"Oh, come on, Hunter," Henley smiled. "I've seen the way you look at him. I think you really like him."

"Oh yeah, he's my total bae," I said sarcastically. "Be serious, Henley."

"I am! Come on, you can tell me!" she said. "Girl-to-girl!"

"I _am _telling you!" I insisted. "There is _nothing _going on between Jack and me! He is my best friend! Hell, he's practically my brother!"

"Feelings change!" Henley replied. "I'd totally understand it if you _do _like him. He's cute."

"On the look out for a toy-boy, are we, Henley?" I teased.

"I'm only twenty-seven, Hunter, I don't think it counts," she giggled. "And besides, I really do _not _think of Jack like that. When I say cute, I mean in the teddy-bear sense."

"Well…so do I!"

"I think you're lying," Henley said in a sing-song voice.

"Believe what you want," I replied, imitating her tone.

"Okay, I'm not going to push it anymore," she said. "You'll tell me when you're ready. I can wait."

"Well, you are gonna be waiting a seriously long time." I really hoped anyway, as I had no intention of anyone, especially not Jack, finding out about this little crush any time soon. If ever, that is.

"Aw, you could have a magic themed wedding!" Henley suggested, a wicked glint in her eye. "You could have sky dancers, fire-eaters and the bridesmaids could wear card-print dresses! And we could do a show!"

"Okay, now I know you're just taking the piss," I snorted. "When I get married, it will be a seriously classy, white-tie-and-diamonds affair, thank you very much!"

"I'm not sure that's Jack's style," she shot back. "He's more simple."

"Shut up!" I shouted, trying to sound serious, but it just came out as a strangled laugh. "I. Do. Not. Love. Jack!" My voice sounded so forcedly casual with that last part that it sounded like I was reading from the phonebook.

"Yes, and I believe you," she assured me, but from her tone I could tell that she completely did _not _believe me. I couldn't blame her; I wouldn't and didn't believe me.

"Well, with the psychoanalogy done," I said cheerfully, placing my final pieces of clothing in my case, flopping the lid shut and smartly zipping it up. "I'm gonna dump my shit with the boys' shit and make myself a refreshing fruit smoothie."

"Shouldn't you get dressed?" Henley suggested. "We'll need to go soon."

I waved my arm in a 'pfft' gesture, dumping my case on the floor and pulling up the handle. "There's plenty of time for that. It's smoothie time."

"Okay, well, I'll be down in a few minutes," she said. "Can you try to get Merritt to get dressed, at least?"

"I can certainly attempt. Then again, it might be a better idea if you did. He seems very taken with you." I winked at her and ducked out the door as a pair of tailored shorts came flying at my face.

* * *

"It's goin' down! I'm yellin' timbeeeer!" I sang loudly, throwing my case over the side of the stairs. It hit the wooden floorboards with a loud thud that caused Jack to jump out of his snooze, Merritt to pull his eyes away from his book and Danny to scowl at me. No change on that last one, then.

Feeling quite wired up, I decided against taking the traditional route down the stairs. Instead, I hoisted myself up on the stair railing, balanced by putting my weight on my forearms before I managed to draw my legs up and stand, ballerina-style, on the rail.

"Heads up, guys!" I called, before I sprung up and flipped my way down to the lower floor, actually managing to land on my feet lightly. I wasn't just doing this totally randomly; I had to practice and keep myself limber so I didn't seize up in a performance.

"Et voilà," I said smugly, doing a bow. "Just throw roses at me, gentlemen. I know I'm fabulous."

"Roses? More like rocks," remarked Danny. Jesus, he really did not like me. But hey, at least the feeling was mutual.

"Aw, you want to throw diamonds at me?" I said sweetly, placing my hand over my heart. "Danny, I'm flattered. And since I'm so flattered, do any of you guys want a smoothie since I'm gonna make one?"

"Pass," Merritt replied, his head buried back in his book.

"I'm good," added Danny, turning back to look out the window in what I'm sure he imagined was a thoughtful manner, playing with his card deck. And no, that is not an innuendo.

"Okay, suit yourselves, but when you're both dying of shingles don't come crying to me," I told them, opening the fridge in the mini kitchen the other end of the room and pulling out strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and Greek yogurt. "What about you, Jacky boy? Can I tempt you with some Vitamin…whatever?"

"If it can wake me up, then sure, I'm game," he said, drawing his legs up and crossing them on the table.

"You lazy shit," I teased.

The door suddenly burst open so abruptly that I jumped and screamed, my arms reflexively flying up so that the strawberries in the punnet I had just picked up came raining down around me, bouncing off my head and shoulders. The open doorway revealed a good dozen people, all dressed very sharply in black. The man heading the group was pointing a pistol into the room. "FBI!" he shouted, advancing into the suite. "Hands where I can see them! Let's go, get 'em up, come on!"

"_Uno minuto_," Merritt said idly, holding up a finger. Meanwhile, Danny, Jack and I had all half-heartedly raised our arms in the air, Jack taking about thirty seconds to do so. My God, had he really not had that much sleep?

"Get them up! Put the book down!" the guy who was clearly the head agent ordered, and Merritt flopped the book down on to his chest, half raising his arms up from the elbows.

"Okay, you got me," Merritt smirked.

"Freeze! Hands in the air!" the agent suddenly shouted again, pointing his gun up the stairs where Henley was then coming down, putting on a red blazer.

"Oh my!" she gasped, doing so. "Do one of you guys mind giving us a hand with our bags?"

Shocked didn't even begin to cover the expressions every single member of the FBI in the room was wearing. Original Agent Guy composed himself first, gesturing at five members of his little squad to disperse around the suite and collect our belongings. However, he then sent another three agents over to Danny, Jack and Henley, getting the agents to handcuff them all.

"Mr McKinney, Miss Blackwell, if you'd like to get dressed please." Neither of us moved. "Now, if you wouldn't mind."

"Well, never let it be said I don't do anything to help out our boys in blue," said Merritt, heading up the stairs to his room. I still didn't move, folding my arms defiantly instead.

"Miss Blackwell, if you would be so kind," Original Agent Guy said tightly, gesturing after Merritt.

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said, no. I don't want to get dressed. I'm perfectly comfortable in my pyjamas, thanks."

"Miss Blackwell, are you aware where you'll be going?"

"Yup. Doesn't make a difference. I don't get dressed before three o'clock on my days off. It's my rule. So suck it, Mr FBI Man. I'm not moving."

"Very well then. We'll do it your way." And for the third time, he motioned to yet another agent to force my arms behind my back and slap a pair of cold metal handcuffs around my wrists.

"Urgh. I'm sorry, but you are _so _not good-looking enough to let you handcuff me."

* * *

_Okay, so now I'm beginning to wish I'd gotten dressed_, I thought fifteen minutes later, as we were led through the lobby of the Aria by every single one of the agents; a lobby which was packed near to the brim with people. You had Henley, Jack, Danny and Merritt all dressed classily and understatedly in their typical black attire, and then you had me in my pyjamas, cardigan, Ugg boots and scraped-back ponytail.

"Awesome show, dudes!" someone in the crowd shouted, and everyone started to cheer and whoop, so we smiled back. After all, it would have been rude to ignore the fans…even if we were in the process of getting arrested.

Once outside, we were all bundled into the back of two cop cars: Danny, Henley and Merritt in one (because that wasn't going to be an awkward journey at all) and Jack and I in the other one. I'm sure under any other circumstances, being arrested in Vegas meant you'd gotten drunk and molested a stripper if you were male, or gotten drunk and kicked your now ex-best friend's teeth in if you were female.

But no. I was getting arrested because I robbed a bank with magic. Supposedly. Not that these wank-stains had any proof of that, mind. So basically, this was just a routine arrest.

"This is such a waste of my time," I moaned, kicking at the passenger seat in front of me and earning me a scowl from the agent in said seat. "I have better things to be doing with my life!" Jack cleared his throat significantly. "Oh, what? All you want to do is have another couple of hours of sleep! I need to _practice_! I'm still convinced I'm unbalanced on the…" I noticed the two agents eavesdropping in the front seat. "You know what, never mind. Besides, you can sleep on the way there!"

"I think it would be easier if you weren't complaining so much," he retorted.

"I am not complaining!" I gasped, whacking him on the arm. "I call it…irritated conversing."

"Tomato, tomarto."

"God, sometimes I just wanna punch you in the throat."

"You don't mean that. You love me." Jack grinned that cocky, lopsided grin at me, and I internally turned to goo.

"No, you're right, I do love you," I said, and I undid my belt so I could lie down across the seats, my feet up against the window and my head in Jack's lap. "My brother from another mother." _Crap_. It took a second to work out that I had just friendzoned the guy I liked. Seriously, how had I even managed to do that. Most girls did it without realising, but no; I had to have a conscience and was able to notice my friendzoning ability. For God's sake.

I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the journey to the Vegas FBI division HQ. I think Jack was grateful, as he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, and I'm pretty sure he had dozed off after a couple of minutes. I closed my eyes too, my hands crossed over my stomach. The rhythmic rocking of the police car as it cruised down the roads was very nearly sending me to sleep as well, but I fought to stay awake; when I slept, I tended to snuggle around and, well…my head was on an awkward part of Jack's body to do so.

But not too long later (well, it didn't seem like long. Crap nuggets, maybe I had fallen asleep) the car came to a pretty sudden stop, and I was almost flung out of my seat due to my lack of seatbelt. I sat up quickly as Jack mumbled something incoherently and stretched, his eyes opening. I slapped my cheeks a couple of times to wake me up, sighing out a yawn.

Jack's door opened, and the agent who had been in the passenger seat reached in and grabbed Jack's upper arm, manhandling him out the car whilst I was dragged out the other door by the other agent. "Come on, lovebirds, time to move," my agent said.

"He's not my boyfriend," I muttered, wanting to converse with the agent as little as possible. _No matter how much I wish he was._

* * *

"Let me out!" I wailed melodramatically, throwing my head back and staring at the ceiling of my bleak interrogation cell. "I'm innocent! Innocent, I tells ya!" No one came in still. I knew we all had to be interviewed about this, and knowing my luck, I was going to be the last. I'd already been in here about two goddamn hours, how long did it take?!

"Oh my God, this is such bullshit," I muttered to myself, thumping my head down face first on the cold metal table in front of me. I hadn't even seen Merritt, Danny or Henley when Jack and I were forcibly hauled into this place. The agents had dumped Jack in the first cell we came too, then I was lead to one a few cells down. They'd taken my phone and my iPod out of my cardigan pockets as soon as they sat me down and cuffed me to the table, so I couldn't even entertain myself with a few games of Flappy Bird.

Now, I had a choice; sit here in silence and wait for whoever was going to be in charge of this investigation to come to me, or be as annoying as I could possibly be so that the head agent got irritated and came to me anyway, but quicker. Well, it was going to have to be that last one. I figured I might as well have some fun with it.

I cleared my throat and started singing _We're All In This Together _from _High School Musical_. "WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER! ONCE WE KNOW, THAT WE ARE, WE'RE ALL STARS AND WE SEE THAT. WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER, AND IT SHOWS, WHEN WE STAND, HAND IN HAND, MAKE OUR DREAMS COME TRUE!" _Oh my God, seriously!? Still nobody?! _I was about as tone-deaf as they came! How could no one be finding this annoying!? _Time to kick it up a notch_.

"WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER! WHEN WE REACH, WE CAN FLY, KNOW INSIDE, WE CAN MAKE IT! WE'RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER! ONCE WE CAN SEE, THERE'S A CHANCE, THAT WE HAVE AND WE TAKE IT! WILDCATS, EVERYWHERE! WAVE YOUR HANDS UP IN-"

The metal door on my right finally screeched open, and two people walked in: a dark-haired man who looked to be about thirty-eight, thirty-nine, and a blonde woman who seemed in her early- to mid-thirties. "Alright, alright! That's enough!" ordered the man, glaring at me.

I shut up instantly. "Sir, yes, sir."

"Miss Blackwell, I am Alma Dray and this is Agent Dylan Rhodes," introduced the woman, who had a thick French accent. Hm, so they'd got Interpol down on this as well. Interesting.

"Um, hi?" I said uncertainly. "Is that how I should respond to that? I'm kinda new to the whole 'getting arrested' thing."

"Hi will suffice," said Alma as she and Agent Rhodes sat in the two chairs across from me.

"Well, hi then," I said brightly, determined not to show any form of weakness. "Now, is it okay if I just raise a little issue I'm having?"

"Oh God, no, she's just like the last one," groaned Rhodes, putting his head in his hands.

"Hmm. I get the feeling that you just came from interviewing Danny."

"What issue do you have, Miss Blackwell?" asked Alma gently.

"Just call me Hunter, please. 'Miss Blackwell' makes me sound like a forty-year-old teacher who never got married," I said, pulling a face. "And basically, um, I don't really feel comfortable sitting on the same chair that probably seated a murderer less than twelve hours ago."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Rhodes said derisively. "Would you like me to send someone out to get you a nice new chair from Home Depot? Would you like me to do that for you?"

"Is that an option?"

"Spare me the crap, little girl," Rhodes instructed, sounding one hundred percent done with my shit. "Now, let's take a look at your file."

"I have a file? That's fun."

"Now, it says here that you moved from London to New York three years ago when you were eighteen. Is that right?"

"If it's in the file, it must be. Those things are pretty official." I grinned snarkily at him.

"So why'd you leave? Your mom and dad wanted you to go to college over here, what? London's a nice place, a lot safer than New York, I'll bet."

I removed my cardigan and turned around, pulling my tank top to the side to expose a long-healed scar that spread three inches across my shoulder blade. "Tell that to the twats who decided to mug me when I was sixteen because they liked my necklace, then thought it was a good idea to knife me across the back when I didn't give it up." I turned back around, shrugging my cardigan back on. "I moved over here because my parents wouldn't support me in what I wanted to do with my life. They hated the idea of me being a trapeze artist or illusionist or anything that didn't have an actual guaranteed career for me." I started to get a bit choked up, and I could feel tears in my eyes. "Sorry, that's a bit of a touchy area, can we please move on?"

"You wanna know what's a touchy area?" Rhodes asked rhetorically. "When five so-called magicians steal over three million Euros from a Parisian bank whilst they were still in Vegas and don't say how they did it."

"A good magician never reveals her secrets," I said, now thoroughly pissed off at this guy for being so dismissive of what was genuinely a hard part of my life to talk about. "I'm sure you've heard that before."

"So it was you who worked it all out, then? You're the little mastermind behind this whole thing?"

I actually laughed out loud at that. "Do I really look that smart to you?" Rhodes did not look amused, but I did notice Alma smirk. "Like I could actually come up with anything like that. I'm just one of the amusing little sidekicks."

"How. Did. You. Do. It?" Rhodes demanded through gritted teeth.

I leaned across the table and darted my eyes left and right like I was checking that no one was listening. Rhodes leaned in closer too. "_Magic_," I whispered mystically, then burst out laughing again as I took in the furious expression on Rhodes' rapidly-turning-pink face.

"You stupid bi-" Rhodes began heatedly.

"Look, this is all a complete waste of time," I interrupted. "I'm not gonna tell you shit, and I seriously doubt that anyone else is so you may as well let us go. Your attempts have been futile, I'm afraid, Agent Rhodes. Soz, mate." Nothing like a bit of Cockney English slang to really rile someone up.

"Oh yeah, and what if I decide not to let you go?" Rhodes challenged.

"Then I'll make my own way out," I replied simply, and before Rhodes or Alma even had time to react, I pulled on the chains joined to my handcuffs and got them free. I threw the chains up to the ceiling where they magically attached themselves to one of the ceiling panels. My wrists slipped out of the cuffs easily and I jumped from my chair, slotting my feet into the cuffs and climbing up the chains until my head was pressed up against the ceiling.

It wasn't exactly high up, only about nine feet, but I was able to look down on Rhodes and Alma, so I grinned haughtily at them. "See what I mean? There's a saying here in the magic world; always expect the unexpected. So let. Us. Go."

We were indeed let out not too long after that. According to my phone and iPod that I had just been handed back, it was now coming up for three in the afternoon. We'd been in that place for nearly four bloody hours. What even was this!?

We were led out of the HQ in a line; Henley, Danny, Merritt, Jack and me bringing up the rear.

"Oh my God, are you seriously still tired?" I said disbelievingly to Jack, who had just yawned widely and obviously.

"Nah, just woke up," he replied.

"Are you kidding me? You slept throughout that entire rigmarole?"

"Not all of it," he answered, grinning. "Just most."

"I could kill you sometimes, Jack Wilder, I really could," I told him as we were ushered into the back of a white blacked out BMW together, Merritt, Danny and Henley again taking the other car disposed to us.

"So where are we going now?" he asked.

"The airport, don't you remember?" I replied, snuggling back in the leather seat and opening the window a bit. "We have a private jet to catch."

* * *

**A/N- So we've discovered some more about Hunter's past, and it looks like Jack might have a little bit of a crush on our resident Englishwoman as well. Where's it going from here, I wonder? ;) Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Drop me a review, I always love to here from you all! They make me know it's worth carrying on my writing! Mwah! Xx Gee xX**

**References:  
'Self-five' is obviously from **_**How I Met Your Mother**_**. If you didn't know that then…just…I'm sorry, I need a moment to pray for you and your bleak, **_**HIMYM**_**less soul.**

**PS- Usual reminder that my Polyvore collection link is on my profile! ****:)**


	5. Sister Act

**A/N- Okay, I know it's kinda been a few of weeks since I last updated, but…well…I kinda got introduced to a certain **_**Supernatural**_** and, well, one season turned into two turned into three…you get where I'm coming from. I'd apologise, but I'm totally hooked, especially since I'm only now on season five out of nine, so it might be like this for a while… anyway, big ol' thanks to Guest 1, Guest 2, tangle-of-ivy, Rissa-channn and Iris RainbowWolf for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter Five- Sister Act**

I'd never been in a private jet before. Why would I have been? Despite having relatively well-paid jobs, my parents had been an economy-flight type of couple, so any family holidays abroad were flown that way, including my solo flight over here. So reclining here in Arthur Tressler's very own private plane, I felt like the Queen.

It was set out like a long, thin hotel room with beds and chairs and a TV, not to mention free WiFi. So what did I do? I opened up my Nintendo DS and started playing on _Super Mario Bros_. I was sitting on a white leather seat with my legs stretched out on the seat facing me, across the aisle from Jack, who was talking to Jasmine, Arthur's personal assistant.

They were sitting in a four-person block, but it was just the two of them sitting there, having a good old-fashioned laugh. I couldn't help but keep stealing little sideways glances at them, feeling more and more wound up on the inside every time I did. Oh goodie, I was having an attack of the green-eyed monster. Twenty-one years old, and jealousy still managed to hit me like I was back in high school.

I shifted my legs so I was sitting curled up in the seat in my purple shorts and red vest, glaring at the screen of my DS as little Mario hopped over and under some pipes. I plugged in my headphones, the tinny electronic music drowning out their conversation. Oh my God, I was getting more pathetic by the day. I closed my eyes, trying to let the upbeat techy Mario music drag me away, but I couldn't help it. He was always on my mind, drowning me in my own thoughts.

_Oh Jack. Sometimes I think I want to hate you. More than that, I'm __convinced__ that I want to hate you. I want to hate you for making me feel special, for caring about me, so that I make myself believe that I have even the smallest chance of being with you. _

_I want to hate you for being my best friend in the whole world, but for only being that, and for talking to me, and for acting as if you actually enjoy being in my company. I want to hate you for making me laugh. I want to hate you for being so perfect for me, and I want to hate you for you not knowing what your mere presence does to me, and to hate you for not knowing how you make me feel. _

_I want hate you for making me feel like I hate myself. I want to hate myself for allowing myself to fall for you, because I know that nothing can ever happen between us. I want to hate myself for ignoring my head screaming at me to try and see sense. I want hate myself for not having more self-restraint. And I want hate myself for the internal wreck I become every time I see you._

_But most of all, I want to hate you because I __can't__ hate you. I want to hate you because the feelings are there, and they hurt like someone's stuck a poker into my heart. And I want to hate myself because I can't do anything about it. _

I opened my eyes and removed my headphones, forcing myself back to reality and pulling myself away from the depressing thoughts trying to swallow me up. Jack was still sitting with Jasmine, smiling away, having a jolly good time. I hated her. I barely knew her, and I hated her. I hated her because she was making him laugh, making casual chit-chat and spending time with him. She had taken my place and I wanted it _back_. Oh, it looked like my Psycho Bitch side had reared its ugly head. See, this was why I never had crushes! They turned me into an evil, paranoid, psychotic shell of myself.

I stood up, downed the rest of my complementary champagne- courtesy of Mr Tressler- followed by slipping on my ballet pumps and storming down the aisle to the toilet at the back of the plane. I locked the door behind me and sat down on the closed toilet, my head in my hands.

What was wrong with me? I had been fine yesterday after the interrogation, yesterday evening and night whilst we had stayed in the hotel next to Arthur's private hangar, and I'd been fine this morning. More than fine; in fact, I'd been borderline hyperactive. I never, ever felt like this. I prided myself on being a constant ray of sunshine, bringing joy and hilarity to people's lives. Now I was acting and thinking like a stupid surly teenager who was pissed at the world because the boy she had a crush on showed an inkling of interest in another girl.

I was so angry with myself for feeling like this, for feeling like I had some kind of claim over Jack. He was at perfect liberty to chat and flirt with whoever he liked, it wasn't like it was really any of my business. Why should I care?

Yeah, so maybe I had a crush on Jack, and yeah, maybe I'd got it into my head that Jack _maybe _liked me back. It wasn't like I could make anything come of that, was it? No. Not if I wanted our relationship to continue as seamlessly and flawlessly as it was.

Good God, I needed to get a grip on myself. This wasn't me. I wasn't like this, I didn't think like this, and I'd be damned if I'd let myself become the cliché type of girl you saw on the 'just girly relationship things' Twitter accounts. It was at times like this that, back in England, I would have gone to my older sister for advice.

Mila was twenty-seven, and she'd always wanted to be like Mum and Dad, to go on and work in finance just like they did. She'd been to college and university and now worked at Citibank in Canary Wharf. She was beautiful, happily married and had a two-year-old son, Dean. She lived the typical middle-class London life. I'd been the rebellious one.

And now, for the first time in three years, I found myself feeling totally and utterly homesick. I missed Mila so much, and I missed Mum and Dad too. I'd barely spoken to them over this last year, maybe once a month, whereas before all this magic stuff had kicked off we'd spoken about five times a week, if not more. I missed my old house. I missed my old bedroom, with its red and white rose wall paper, and its cherry red carpet, and the white poster bed. I missed England.

_Shut up! Just shut up! _I thought furiously at myself, blinking any tears away, hard. _This is not you! This will never, ever be you! You're supposed to be the rainbow in the storm, the ray of sunshine, the life and soul of the party! Not some bloody churlish little girl! Grow up! Get out there and show everyone on this plane why they love you so much! _I hated to admit it, but I was right.

I just needed to do something that would drag Jack's attention away from Jasmine and back to me.

I stood up purposefully, shook my hair back and smiled at my reflection in the little mirror, grabbing a piece of tissue and wiping a few escaped tears away, being careful of my eye makeup. I opened the door a little forcefully and it smacked into the wall, causing everyone to turn away from whatever conversation they had been having and look at me.

I looked at them all impassively, kicked off my pumps, lifted my arms straight above my head and put one foot in front of the other. I took a small run-up and threw myself down the aisle of the plane, incorporating a flip, a couple of cartwheels and a front handspring.

There was a burst of applause as I landed just past the four seater booth where Jasmine and Jack were sitting, stopping just in front of Arthur.

"Beautiful, my dear!" he praised, holding up his champagne glass as a toast.

"One of the more common words used to describe me," I joked, taking a bow.

"You know, most people prefer to walk without feeling the need to show off at every opportunity," Danny sneered from where he was sitting closer to the back of the plane.

"Coming from you, the guy who introduces himself as 'the one and only' whenever he meets someone new?" I retorted.

"Yeah, come on Danny," said Jack, who had managed to drag himself away from Jasmine. "We're magicians, aren't we supposed to show off?" He grinned at me, and I grinned back.

"You said it, boo," I said, collapsing back in my seat across from him. "Hey, listen, fancy playing a game?"

"Depends if it's going to be one of your 'games'-" he said it whilst making the quotation marks with his fingers. "That causes me physical pain."

"Nope, this one is purely verbal," I told him, tucking my legs up. "I assume you've heard of Would You Rather?" He nodded. "Excellent."

Call it childish, but Would You Rather had been one of my favourite games since I started secondary school at age twelve. Back then, it had always been simple things, like, "Would you rather drink a bottle of vinegar every week for a whole year, or live in a sewage drain for a month and you can't ever leave during that time?"

Of course, then the hormones kicked in during Years Nine and Ten, which was when the dirtier stuff came through. We'd spend our lunch times posing each other questions like, "Would you rather watch your parents have sex whilst they're making eye contact with you and you can't look away, ever, or jerk off to a picture of your mum while she watches and you can't stop yourself?" The maturity was overwhelming in my school.

I didn't ask stuff like that _now_, obviously. I'd grown up a little since we left school, so I didn't ask any disturbing questions like that. And it was because of my lack of sickening questions that we managed to continue the game for a good half an hour, forty-five minutes. I felt a small, immature surge of internal victory at the fact it was me Jack was talking to, not bloody Jasmine.

* * *

If there was one thing I was noticing about this plane journey, it was that Danny was staying uncharacteristically quiet. Other than his one little dig at me, he'd been near enough silent. Merritt and Henley had been chatting up a storm, as had myself and Jack, and even Art had chipped in to the conversations a few times in between Skyping Conan O'Brien. I could blatantly see what it was that was getting to him, though.

I could see him constantly staring- or rather glaring- down the aisle at the laughing pair that was Henley and Merritt. This plane must have been cursed with jealousy, as that now made two of us that had been struck down with it. It wasn't healthy, I swear to God.

"Okay, so, would you rather…" I began, but I was cut off as Danny decided to get up and intervene between Henley and Merritt's conversation.

"Oh hey, Danny," Jack tried to interject, grabbing his arm. "Can I talk to you about my role in the show real quick?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure," Danny replied distractedly, patting Jack on the side of the head a couple of times. He didn't stop to listen, of course, but instead merely leant on the archway between the section of the plane we were in, and the section of the plane that seated Merritt and Henley.

"Hey guys," he said brusquely, cutting off Henley's laughter. "We've got a show to prepare for."

"Oh, do we now?" Merritt said sarcastically, standing up and advancing on Danny.

"No, no, no! Don't do that!" Danny warned, backing up a little. "You're not doing that _thing _to me. No, no, no."

"What thing?" asked Merritt innocently as he and Henley came through to our part of the plane. "I'm just looking at you."

"No you're not! I've been watching you for a year, I know all of your little tricks!"

"That what they are to you? Tricks?"

"Yes, it's gimmicks! It's Barnum statements! It's reading the eyes, body language. I get it."

"If it's such an easy thing, then why don't you do Henley?" Merritt suggested.

"Yeah Danny, why don't you _do _me?" Henley said with an innuendo-y edge to her voice.

"No, you're too easy," Danny retorted, and I sucked my breath in sharply in a 'burn' hiss. "I'll do, er, I'll do Jasmine." He clapped a hand on the assistant's shoulder. _Of course. Everyone wants to do bloody Jasmine_.

"No," chipped in Arthur, and we all turned to look at him. "Do me." And bingo. The plan was in motion.

"Oh yeah. Yeah, do Art," said Merritt, like the idea had only just appealed to him.

"Okay." Danny shrugged and moved to stand in front of Arthur.

"Even better," Merritt smirked as we all followed to have a good watch.

"But I warn you," said Arthur. "I can be difficult to read when I want to be."

"Just, uh, stay with me, okay?" asked Danny, using to fingers to gesture from his eyes to Art. "So Art, you were a tough kid. You know, kind of a real rapscallion. You had a dog, a real tough dog. A brutish breed. Like a real…I want to say…Ben the bulldog."

"Actually, I was a prissy little tot," Art informed us. "I had a fluffy white cat called, Snuffles!" We all burst out laughing at Danny's complete failure, and I took the opportunity to quickly take down the answer in my iPhone memos.

"Wow," Danny muttered, punching the plane wall in frustration. "Ah, sorry."

"Wait, let me try one!" said Jack, laughing still. "I can do it way better than that."

"Let him do it," said Henley, gesturing at Jack.

"Yeah," I added. "There's no way he can do as bad as you are."

"Come on, give me one more time! One more time!" begged Danny.

"He can do way better than that!" Henley insisted, still pointing at Jack.

"Let's do family," Danny suggested. "You had an uncle on your mother's side. He had a real kind of…a real masculine name. A real kind of…salt-of-the-earth, you know, a real stick-it-to-you…like it was some kind of Paul. Thompson? Was it a Paul…" Danny made a noise of exasperation. "Okay. You know what? I got nothin'."

"Nearly though," Arthur humoured him.

"Was I?"

"Yeah. My uncle's name was Cushman Armitage." Arthur started laughing again, as we all did, and again I noted the name down.

"Really? Snuffles and Cushman Armitage, that was your childhood?" Danny said.

"That, my friends, is the childhood of the typical upper-class Brit," I told them. "Not that I have much experience with that, mind, since my uncle on my mother's side is called Jason Parker."

"I certainly hope tonight's show is gonna be better than this," joked Arthur.

"Don't worry Art, we're keeping Danny far, far away from any mentalism," I promised.

"Yeah, don't worry," said Danny. "Just you wait." Yeah, because Mr Arthur Tressler was going to get the shock of his life.

We touched down in New Orleans right in the middle of Mardi Gras. This had been a dream of mine since I was a little girl, to be in the Big Easy during Mardi Gras. At first it had been all about the masks and the music and the pretty lights, but when I started learning French in Year Six, it all kicked off from there.

However, as I took in the sights of the people who were jamming the streets to the point of overcrowded, I was finding the experience less than enjoyable. As we drove to The Savoy to get ready for tonight's show, people were trying to knock on the windows of the car, trying to climb on the car and throwing beads and masks at the car so hard I thought the glass would smash. It was freaking me out. I didn't have a problem with crowds, obviously, but I did have a problem with drunk idiots.

The urge to stick my head out the window and yell at everyone to piss off was extremely high, but I had a feeling that if I stuck my head out the window then someone would tear my hair out from the roots.

"Have you guys ever been to Mardi Gras?" I asked the others, and they all shook their head. "Oh great. Anyone know the death rate from getting trampled by drunken parade-goers? Because I seriously think the second we get out of this car, we're gonna be knocked down and have our spines broken."

"Hunter, are you okay?" Henley asked, concerned. "You seem a little….on edge."

"Do I?" I said distractedly, looking out the window, not looking at her.

"Yeah, you've seemed it all morning," she replied.

"I believe I can disclose the reason behind the matter," piped up Merritt. "Hunter here is feeling-"

"It's PMS," I cut across him quickly, not allowing him to get one syllable out referring to my jealousy. "I'm like a ketchup dispenser over here." I have never seen such varying expressions of sheer disgust on four people's faces before. "Hey, I do not lower the tone. Henley, you'll know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, look at that, we're here," Danny said loudly as our car pulled up outside The Savoy, effectively cutting off any more form of disturbing talk from me.

* * *

Other than performing in the actual act itself, my favourite part of a show was the getting ready. I adored looking through the rails of dresses and skirts and tops and jackets and shoes and deciding what I'd look totally kick-ass in. The very minor hindrance that I had was that I had to wear just black; none of my trademark clashing colours. But I could rock black just as well as I could red or blue or purple or orange.

_Oh my God, I'm so conceited_, I thought, flicking disparagingly through the rail of dresses that had been wheeled into my dressing room two hours ago. I needed to get dressed in the next half hour, due to the show starting in an hour. Dear God, there were so many dresses, so little time.

In the end, I settled on a short black sequined cocktail dress that had sheer panelling at the sides and black crossover patent heels. I was just doing up the strap on my shoe whilst simultaneously looking at my hair in the mirror when there were three quick knocks at my door.

"If you're not Danny, come in, I'm not naked!" I called. "But if you are Danny, please piss off. I see enough of you during the day as it is!"

I heard a familiar throaty chuckle outside the door, which opened, revealing Jack. "Nope, just me," he said, coming in and closing the door behind him.

"Jack, my darling," I said warmly, swinging around on my revolving chair and grinning at him. "What can I do ya for?"

"I've got your, er, tracking bracelet," he said, holding up the clunky black wardrobe abomination.

"Are you kidding me?" I whined. "Does Dickbrain seriously want us to still wear these? They're hideous!" The 'Dickbrain' in question was obviously the one and only (ah, satire) J. Daniel Atlas.

Jack nodded grimly, rolling up the sleeve of his white shirt and showing me his.

"It's like Danny _wants_ me to kick him in the nuts," I muttered, taking my tracker from his hand and fixing it around my wrist. "My God, look at the hideousness," I said disgustedly, holding my arm up and letting the light shine on the bracelet.

"I think it looks nice with the dress," Jack said ironically, sitting down cross-legged on the floor.

"I really hope you're joking," I said, still staring at the bracelet in disdain. "Urgh, no! I can't do it! I cannot cope with it messing up my outfit! It was bad enough the last show where it was clunking up my attire!" I leaped up out of my seat and started rummaging through the accessories box given to me.

"You know Danny will throw a shit-fit if you don't wear it," Jack pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Trust me, I am more than aware of _that _little fact." Before the last show in Vegas, I'd been busted by Danny trying to cut my tracker off with a pair of industrial scissors. He was so pissed, his face turned puce and I think he was about thirty seconds away from kicking me in the uterus.

"I just," I continued. "Want to try something…" I grabbed a pretty black cuff bracelet and fastened it over the top of the ugly tracker. "And bada bing, bada boom, there we have it. Less ugly, more dayum."

"Well, I wish I could do that with mine," Jack joked.

"I'm sure you could," I said, fastening a red rose necklace around my neck. "It would just look a bit…um…feminine."

"Something I'm definitely _not_," Jack insisted, laughing.

_No, you definitely aren't…_I thought wistfully, then internally punched myself. _No! Stop with the thoughts! Remember your self-motivation speech earlier! It. Can. Not. Happen._

"I beg to differ," was what I said aloud, grinning cheekily at him.

"Hey! I'm completely masculine!" he protested.

"Sweetheart, no man should be able to pull off a leather jacket the way you do," I informed him. We both laughed again.

Yeah, being honest here, these moments were what had made my last year not totally stressful. Jack and I spending time together, alone. It was easy, calming, relaxing. We bounced off each other so easily, never taking offence from what we said, very rarely taking each other seriously. We'd have the perfect relationship, but there were two key element missing: romance and reciprocated feelings.

Suddenly, there was a knock at my door again. Now I definitely wasn't expecting anyone. I looked at Jack, my eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Any idea who that is?"

Jack looked equally confused. "No. Danny, Merritt and Henley are all with each other sorting out the lights or something."

"Um, okay," I said slowly, standing up and hesitantly making my way towards to the door. "What is this then? Oh fuck, is this some _Paranormal Activity_-esque prank for an episode of _Punk'd_? If that's what this is, I've known it the whole time!" I shouted at the door. I heard some rustling outside the door, and a few seconds later a napkin slid under the door, with something written on it in black eyeliner. I bent down and picked it up.

"What's it say?" asked Jack.

I was too busy reading the note to reply. _Just open the bloody door, Zee! X_

"Oh my actual God!" I shrieked, dropping the note and wrenching the door open. There leaning against the frame, was a gorgeous young woman with long silky brown hair that reached her waist. She was dressed in white skinny jeans, a black silky pussy bow blouse and black stilettos, and she was grinning so widely at me I thought her face would split in half.

"_Mila_!" I cried, throwing myself at her.

* * *

**A/N- Okay, so I know in this chapter Hunter came across as being a little whiny and out-of-character, but she's in a rough place with all these weird feelings that she isn't used to. She's still immature at heart. But even so, I hope you liked it! Lemme know what you thought, you know I loves me some reviews! Xx Gee xX**

**PS- On my profile, there is now a link to a picture of the actress I'd have play Mila in the movie. Check that out, along with Hunter's actress and my Polyvore collection!**

**References: Okay, the whole** "_**Would you rather watch your parents have sex whilst they're making eye contact with you and you can't look away, ever, or jerk off to a picture of your mum while she watches and you can't stop yourself?**_**" was NOT my own disturbed invention, I swear to God. It's paraphrased from a Funny Or Die video called 'Would You' starring a certain Dave Franco. FYI, if you haven't seen it…don't. Because you will want to bleach your eyes afterwards.**


	6. Big Show In The Big Easy

**A/N- Yay for a fast update! I don't know what it is, but the words just kept a-comin' with this chapter. I hope this means it's pretty good. I always like to think my work is. Anyway, givin' some mahoosive thanks to Rissa-channn and Ava for reviewing!**

* * *

**Chapter Six- Big Show In The Big Easy**

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. I couldn't believe it. Because it was unbelievable. Here I was, in New Orleans, about to go on stage, hugging my big sister who I hadn't seen in three whole years. I was so glad I hadn't put my eyeliner or mascara on yet, because I was crying so much, my head buried in Mila's shoulder.

"I can't believe it's you!" I was sobbing. "I've missed you so much!"

"It's not just me!" she laughed, and I could hear from the thickness of her voice that she was close to crying too. "Look!" She made me release her and turned me to face down the hall. A middle-aged couple were standing about five metres away. The woman had carefully styled curly brown hair, and was dressed elegantly in a purple cocktail dress and nude heels. The man was slightly older, with thinning hair that was now more grey than blonde, and he was wearing a grey suit. It was them. I couldn't believe this either. My parents, here, in America.

"Mum!" I exclaimed, despite them being so close. "Dad!" They smiled broadly at me, Mum moving forward and enveloping me in a huge hug. She still smelled like Prada Candy perfume.

"We're so proud of you, Zee," she told me, and I closed my eyes and breathed in her soft, powdery scent.

"Hey kid," Dad said when Mum and I let go of each other, and I moved to hug him too.

"Hey Daddy," I replied, and he reached over and ruffled my hair. Dad had never really been one for the cuddly-cuddly stuff, even when Mila and I were little. "What are you doing here?!" I asked them, wiping the tears off my face and out of my eyes.

"Well, we saw on the news how popular your show in Las Vegas was," Mum replied. "So we decided to see for ourselves. We were lucky to get the tickets; they sold out in thirty seconds, apparently."

"Yeah, that and the whole 'we haven't seen Hunter for like three years' thing," chipped in Mila.

"How are you even here?" I asked Mila. "Like, how did you get time off work? Where's Dean? Where's Andrew?" I named her two-year-old son and husband of six years.

"Andrew's taken Dean to stay with his mum for two weeks in Yorkshire," Mila replied. "And I had an overdraft of holiday anyway so…here I am."

"Woah, two weeks?"

"Yeah, we thought we'd make a proper holiday of it," she replied. "We're staying in New Orleans for the week, then going to LA for the next. When will you be back in the Big Apple, then?"

"Oh, we'll be back in the next couple of days," I said casually, knowing exactly what was going to be happening when we got back to NYC. "We'll finish up here then fly back for our final show."

"Only one more show?" said Mum.

"Yeah, then it's time for a nice, well deserved break." _Hopefully not literally…_

"It does look like you've been working hard," commented Dad.

"You have nooo idea," I muttered, not meeting anyone's eye. There was the sound of a male throat-clearing behind me, and Jack stepped forward, poking me on the arm. "Oh, right. Yeah. Mum, Dad, Mila," I said, dragging Jack forward so he was standing a little bit in front of me. "This is my very bestest friend in the whole wide world, Mr Jack Wilder." Jack held up his hand in a kind of wave. "Jack, this is my mother and father, Amanda and Robert Blackwell, and my older sister Mila Tamworth, formerly Mila Blackwell."

"Nice to meet you," Jack said warmly, shaking hands with my parents, but Mila moved forward and encircled him in what really looked like a too-close-for-comfort hug.

"Any friend of Zee's is a friend of mine," she told him, releasing him from her stranglehold. He looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Zee?" Jack looked enquiringly at me.

"It's Mila's crappy sense of humour," I explained. "She thought it would be funny to start calling me Zombie Hunter, which was then shortened to Zombie, and eventually just became Zee. It's not a nickname I have ever been proud of. So tell any of the others and I _will _be forced to kill you."

"You love it really," Mila drawled, and I shot her the finger. "So anyway, Mother, Father, you should really be going and saving our seats. The show's starting soon, isn't it?" she directed at me, and I nodded.

"Well what are you doing, Mila?" Mum asked her.

"I need to have a catch-up with my little sister," Mila answered, grinning at me, and I vanished. "So Mr Wilder, you too need to make yourself scarce."

"Um, right," Jack said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I'll just go and…um…find Danny and Merritt and that."

"Alright then, tell them I'll be fifteen minutes," I said. "Hear that, Mill? For once, your gossip needs to be cut short."

* * *

"I cannot believe you!" Mila was fuming five minutes later, once everyone else had disappeared. "Like, seriously! Are you honestly that stupid?!"

"Mila, you don't know anything about this! Don't start yelling at me over something so trivial!"

"Trivial?! _Trivial_?! This is not _trivial_! This is your love life, little sis! How can you call that trivial?!"

"Quite easily! It's not a high focus area of my life right now!"

"Well it bloody well should be! I have just watched you friendzone one of the only guys I've seen that into you!"

"Oh please! Jack is not into me! Not like that!"

"Well I beg to differ! You're so blind when it comes to stuff like this, Hunter! You can't see the way he looks at you!"

"Well, yeah, I had my back to him for most of the bloody conversation!"

"Exactly! You're proving my point! You didn't see the little glances he kept giving you! You didn't see how his face softened when you spoke!"

"Er, Jack does _not _act like that. Like, ever. You don't know him, Mila!"

"I don't care if I don't know him. I know about this kind of thing. I've been married for six years, Hunter! Since I was your age! I can tell when someone likes someone else! And I can tell that you really like him too!"

I folded my arms and glared at her. Mila pulled back from applying my eyeliner for me and stared at me, hard. What was I supposed to say? If I couldn't admit this to Mila, my big sister, then I couldn't admit it to anyone. "So is it really that obvious?"

"Not to anyone else," Mila replied, her voice softer now we'd stopped shouting at each other. "But to me…I watched you grow up for fifteen years before I moved out, Zee. You have these little tics. Your voice goes gentler, and you get this misty look in your eyes. Just like he did. I saw you together for about five minutes, and I can just tell it would work. _You_ would work."

"Yeah, and I'd really like to believe that," I sighed. "But the fact remains that if you're wrong, and he doesn't see me as anything more than just his best friend, and then I go and make a move…it will just mess everything up. And I really, really don't want that. Not now, not ever."

"But if you _don't _make a move, then you'll never know," Mila pointed out.

"Then I'd rather not know," I retorted, spinning round in my chair and looking at myself in the mirror. I had to cut her off now. "Right. I'm set."

"You look beautiful," she said softly, smiling at me in the reflection.

"You wait until you see Henley," I replied, fluffing up my hair. "Standing next to her, I look like Regan from _The Exorcist _after she gets possessed by Satan."

"Don't be stupid, Zee, you know you're gorgeous," Mila assured me, and she pulled me up out of my chair and into a hug. I buried my face in her grape-scented hair and she ran a hand through my hair. We were like positive and negative- Mila with her dark hair, smoky make-up and classy black-and-white attire; me with my blonde hair, bubblegum pop make-up and 'Hey, I have the mentality of a colour-blind ten-year-old' fashion sense.

But at the same time, we were like the same person. We had the same sense of humour, same motivation to do what we wanted (even if our aspirations were total opposites) and same stubbornness. Hence why Mila refused to let go of the fact she was convinced Jack 'like-liked' me, and why I refused to fully admit it. Mila Ruby Tamworth could read me like a book.

"Go out there and knock 'em dead, kiddo," she whispered, pressing her red lips to my forehead. "No matter what, we love you."

* * *

"Okay, I'm here! I'm ready!" I cried, running/tottering my way backstage to find the others. "I'm sorry! I got a little…um…caught up."

Henley, who was stroking Fluffy the Rabbit, looked up at me. "Wow, you look hot!"

"I know, right?" I replied with a smirk, twirling round on one foot, nearly tripping over.

"You are aware we go onstage in like five minutes, right?" asked Danny, ever the mood-killer. "You're cutting it really close, as usual."

My temper spiked up automatically. "Oh, well I'm so sorry that my family who I haven't seen in three years decided to pay me a visit! Next time I'll just tell them to fuck off, shall I?" I was shouting now, regardless of anyone who could hear me.

Jack was immediately by my side, though he looked apprehensive to get any closer than a hand on my shoulder. "Don't start, Hunter. You know what happens when you freak out."

"Are you referring to my tendency to punch people?"

"Yeah, basically. None of us really wants to go on stage with a bloody nose or black eye."

"Wait, back up a second," said Henley. "Did you say your mom and dad are here? As in, New Orleans here?"

"Yeah," I answered, breathing heavily. "My mum, my dad and my older sister."

"You have a sister?!" Henley, Danny and Merritt all exclaimed.

"Yeah," I said again, taking the microphone a stagehand had passed to me and fixing it behind my ear and across my face. "She's twenty-seven. Mum and Dad were kinda young when she came along, I mean Mum was only twenty-one, so they waited another few years before they popped me out." Dear God, why did everything big happen to the women in my family when they were twenty-one?! Mum had Mila, Mila got married and I…well…I didn't want to think about the big thing that could happen to me when we flew back to New York.

"_Ladies and gentlemen. The Savoy management welcomes you to tonight's special performance: The Five Horsemen, Act Two_," the announcer's voice suddenly boomed out, addressing the audience. "_Unlike traditional performances, The Five Horsemen encourage you to film, call your friends, upload, stream and Tweet the show freely. Thank you. The show will begin in a few minutes._"

"Oh! That reminds me!" I said, grabbing my phone from the table we'd left them on and accessed my Twitter, HunterBlackwellSparkles. "About to head on stage," I muttered as I typed. "New Orleans, are you ready?! Hashtag, can't handle the awesome. Kiss, kiss, kiss."

"Was the Tweet necessary?" asked Jack.

"Absolutely," I replied, placing my phone back down. "You heard, we can Tweet freely."

"Horsemen?" one of the stagehands called. "You're on in two." The five of us seemed to subconsciously square our shoulders. Henley and I adjusted our dress hems and the boys all tweaked their shirts. We were ready.

The auditorium was pitch black when we made our way to our positions onstage. The audience couldn't see us, and we took our places on the five protruding sections of stage. An electronic sound started playing, and the lights on the stage floor lit up yellow.

"_Arthur Tressler presents_," the announcer declared, causing the audience to start cheering. "_Hunter Blackwell, Jack Wilder, Henley Reeves, Merritt McKinney and Daniel Atlas._" A spotlight appeared on each of us as our name was said."_The Five Horsemen._" We all smiled and clapped at the crowd, which was going crazy.

"What is magic?" Danny proclaimed as the other four of us moved to stand on the raised stage section behind him. "Our argument: nothing but targeted deception. So I want you to look. Look as closely as possible. Because the tricks you are about to see may not seem connected. But we assure you, they are." I could see nearly every member of the audience had their phone out, filming or streaming or Tweeting us about the world.

"Is what follows one hundred different tricks?" Danny continued. "Or is it one giant illusion?" The lights behind us flaired blindingly before plummeting us back into darkness. We all moved backstage and Henley and Danny gathered up their props for their bunny trick.

"And now for one of the oldest tricks in the book," I heard Henley say as she and Danny moved back onstage, leaving Jack, Merritt and me backstage.

"Are you nervous?" Jack asked me as the duo out front debunked the traditional Vanishing Rabbit trick.

"Truthfully? Yeah," I said with a nervous laugh. "I haven't done anything like this for a year. I'm scared that I've forgotten how to do it."

"You're gonna be great," he assured me, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. "You looked awesome in rehearsal."

"I got my leg stuck and nearly dislocated my knee," I reminded him, and he frowned.

"Okay, that was a slight problem," he said. "But, y'know, it was probably just a one-time thing. You don't mess up. It's like your MO."

"I'm so rusty though," I muttered, now grabbing Jack's hand holding my hand with my other hand (oh my God, it was handception), gripping so tightly my knuckles were turning white as panic mounted up inside me. "What if I do fall?! What if I break my neck!?"

"Don't talk like that. Just chill out," Jack instructed. "You know you're awesome."

"I am pretty awesome, aren't I?" I allowed, grinning at him.

"Man, the sexual tension back here is mounting up to becoming unbearable," Merritt suddenly said, shrugging his blazer back on as Henley and Danny wrapped up their first illusion.

"_Merritt_!" Jack and I exclaimed irately in unison. He'd been throwing these accusations around for months now, and Jack and I were getting pretty damn sick of it. It didn't matter that I felt the tension too. It just didn't matter.

* * *

Merritt and Jack performed their tricks without a hitch, and Henley and Danny were in the throw of performing their second illusion of the evening with the man-sized bubbles. I'd spent the last forty-five minutes pacing furiously back and forth, my heels clicking agitatedly against the floor as I did so. My hands were covered in a cold, nervous sweat, and I thought I was going to be sick.

During the intermission, I had downed two bottles of water in an attempt to get rid of my dry-as-sawdust throat. It hadn't worked very well, and now on top of panicking I also really needed to piss. But I heard cheering. Danny and Henley had finished their act. Now it was my turn.

"Break a leg, girl," Henley whispered as we crossed, me going on stage and she coming off. I nodded, too scared to open my mouth. Mum and Dad were out there, so was Mila. They were here, watching me, supporting me. Loving me.

The crowd cheered and whooped as I crossed the shiny stage floor, and I felt a sudden surge of confidence flow through me. I had this. I'd got this. I'd do this.

"Okay, so," I said, clapping my hands together. "Before I joined the wide and wonderful world of magic, I was attempting to make a name for myself in a little-known circus act back in New York City. I was a trapeze artist. So tonight, I've decided to go back to my roots and put on what is hopefully my greatest show yet! I hope you enjoy!" Cue more cheering and yelling. I smiled and sat back on the silver trapeze that had been lowered down to the stage for me.

I'd never done this in heels before- especially not in heels four and a half inches high- so it was certainly going to be interesting, to say the least. As soon as I'd been hoisted ten metres in the air, I flipped backwards off the bar, grabbing it with one hand and dangling there as the audience gasped. I pulled myself back up and balanced up on both arms, pretending to be doing push ups. I twisted my way around the bar and the ropes suspending it, my body moving fluidly, like I didn't have a spine or something.

I had forgotten just how free and uninhibited being on a trapeze made me feel. It was like I was on top of the world; like I could do anything. This was what I had meant to do, and knowing that Mum and Dad and Mila were in the audience, seeing the exact reason I had left home in the first place, made me feel like I could do anything and everything.

But now came my illusion.

Sparks began to spit out whenever my hands or feet touched the bar. Faster and faster I moved, and smoke began to spiral out too. The smoke turned into flames, and the flames grew bigger, fatter until it looked like the entire trapeze was on fire. That was when the blaze spread to my arms.

The crowd was screaming as the fire began to cover my arms, spreading up over my shoulders and down my dress. I felt nothing but a warm tickling sensation all over my body. I was covered in fire from my shoulders to my toes, and then it crept up my neck, covering my head and hair. The fire roared up, engulfing me completely and I dropped from the trapeze. The air whistled in my ears, and I vanished. Literally vanished. I completely disappeared from sight, cueing more gasps and shrieks and screams from the audience.

"What's up, bitches?" I smirked, dangling upside down by my knees from the intricate chandelier handing over the seating section, making sure my skirt didn't fly up. But it was bodycon, so it stayed where it was.

"Oh my God, she's up there!" I heard someone yell, and I saw everyone craning their heads up to look, each of them clocking me almost instantly. Cheering broke out at a deafening rate, everyone in the audience standing up and applauding, shouting my name.

I was lowered back down to the stage via a harness, and I was almost certain I could pick Mila's voice out of the cheering, shouting, "That's my baby sis!"

I stepped back on the stage with a click of my heels, and I removed the harness with a flourish, bowing as I did so. I'd pulled it off. The fire hadn't burned me alive, the fall hadn't resulted in broken legs and the dangling hadn't resulted in a broken neck. I was alive, and totally kicking it.

"And that, my friends, is how you set fire to yourself and look totally smoking' hot whilst doing it! And yes, the pun really was intended!" I cried happily, laughing and waving to everyone as I walked backwards, disappearing backstage.

"You did it!" Henley squealed, running up and giving me a huge hug.

"I did it!" I replied, hugging her back as we both jumped up and down. "I'm not dead!"

"See? What did I tell you?" said Jack with a massive grin, and I let go of Henley and moved on to hugging my best friend. Both of us were laughing, my arms around his shoulders and his around my waist, and in that moment it took all the self-restraint I had not to kiss him. "You did great, Hunt."

"I know I did," I mumbled against his shoulder. At five foot five to Jack's five seven, I was at the ideal height to lean my head on his shoulder. Goddamn it, why couldn't I just grow the balls to tell him how I felt, for God's sake?!

However, even if I had miraculously found the voice to speak my feelings, there was no time; Merritt was now walking out to tell the audience of our final closing trick. The biggest one we had pulled so far.

"At the intermission, we asked you to write down your current bank balance and seal it in an envelope," Merritt explained. "Now it's time to take those envelopes out. Everyone take 'em out." Paper rustling echoed throughout the theatre as the thousand plus people grabbed their envelopes. "Now, everybody, shout out your name. All at once. Go." The shouting was indistinctive. I certainly couldn't make out a single name in all the hubbub, and I could tell Jack, Henley and Danny couldn't either. "Shout 'em out."

"Hunter Blackwell!" I shouted from the wings, and Merritt turned and grinned at me before looking at the audience and raising his hand to quiet them slightly.

"Er…Cl-Clement? Frannick?"

"Yeah! Up here!" some dude yelled from the balcony, and Merritt looked around up at him.

"Oh," he said. "Way up there! Okay. Dina…Robertson?"

"That's me!" a woman shouted excitedly, standing up.

"Okay. Names. Names," Merritt continued. "Let's go!" There were more indistinct yells, all merging into one huge cry. "Right. Mila. Mila Tamworth?" Woah, what?!

"Yeah, I'm here!" Mila cried, standing up in her spot about five rows away from the stage.

"Okay, one more, one more," Merritt said. "…Josepha…Hickey?"

"That's me!" a woman called, also standing up about two rows behind Mila.

"Josepha, I want you to focus on your balance," Merritt instructed her. "and count from one to ten out loud." Well, I'd heard weirder requests in my time.

"One, two, three, four, five-"

"Stop!" Merritt cut across her. "Is the first digit five?"

"Yes," Josepha replied, surprised.

"Do it again. This time faster."

"One, two, three, four, five, six-"

"Stop!" Merritt held up his hand. "Six? Again."

"One, two-"

"Josepha, is your bank balance five hundred and sixty two dollars as of today?" he asked.

"Yeah," Josepha admitted. "That's what I got." The audience cheered in sympathy…I hoped.

"Unfortunately you're wrong," Merritt told her, leaving the poor woman looking very confused. "Okay, Dina," he turned to the other woman, lifting a finger to his head. "One. Four. Seven. Seven?"

"Yeah," the woman said with a breathy laugh.

"You think it is," Merritt said. "But in fact you, too, are wrong. So, now, Mila."

"Yeah?" my sister's voice was curious.

"Two. Nine. Three. One. And that's in English pounds. Am I right?"

"Um, yeah," Mila muttered, looking upset. "That's all I support my son with." I gasped. I had always been under the impression that Mila was relatively well-off. She wasn't supposed to be part of the trick! Both she and her husband had well-paying jobs, a decent house. Or at least, they had done, until…until last year.

Mila, Andrew and Dean had been staying away in Chelsea one weekend when a fuse shorted out in their kitchen, setting fire to everything. There had been nearly nothing left of the house when they got back, nothing but the foundations. They'd had house insurance though, insurance that should have provided them with a payout and temporary accommodation until the executives found a loophole in the agreement. House insurance from the international branch of Tressler Insurance. How could I have forgotten that!?

I'd been feeling vaguely guilty about what we were about to do. But now…now I wanted nothing more.

"But Mila, I'm afraid you are also wrong," Merritt informed her, and even from the wings I could see Mila's pretty face had contorted with confusion. "Uh, Clement, you do not have sixty-five hundred dollars in your account. In fact, everybody stand up. Everybody." Everyone did so, the envelopes clutched in their hands. "Yeah. Put your envelopes to your forehead." Everyone in the audience now looked really quite comical. "Focus on your number."

There was a few seconds of silence as Merritt focussed also. "Oh. Oh. This is…oh dear. Just as I feared," he announced. "Oh, this is strange. You know, I hate to say this, but you're all wrong. Every last one of you is dead wrong about what you _think _is in your account." Danny and Henley headed out to join Merritt onstage, whilst Jack and I dragged the gigantic envelope and massive floodlight torch to the wings.

"Okay, you can sit down now," Merritt said as Danny whispered something in his ear. "Oh! Oh yeah. I almost forgot. This evening would not be possible if it weren't for our great benefactor, Arthur Tressler." A spotlight highlighted Art as everyone clapped for him, and I tried to push the sudden-found urge to give the man a heart attack to the bottom of my head.

"Big applause! Big applause!" said Danny. "Art, actually, why don't you come up on stage for the finale?"

"Come on down, Art!" Henley and Merritt both cheered.

"There he goes," said Danny. "Okay, good. Here comes Art! There he goes!" I swore he was being patronizing on purpose. Oh bloody well.

Henley led Art onstage by hand and said, "Now Art, did you fill out your envelope?" Art shook his head. "Well no need. We've done it for you." Jack and I lifted the envelope up- which was actually a lot heavier than expected- and carried it out to show off, the cheering increasing as we did so.

"Now Art, I took a guess _north_ of a hundred and forty. Am I right?" Merritt asked Art, who nodded. "That's a hundred and forty million, by the way." Danny and Henley had taken the envelope from me and Jack and were pulling out the prop cheque from within it, revealing the actual balance of Art's bank: $144,579,651.

"Just goes to show what not sitting around on your arse playing PlayStation all day can really achieve," I joked, everyone laughing at me.

"I'm sorry Merritt," Henley said innocently. "How can he be right about his balance and everyone else be wrong?"

"Well I guess there's only one answer to that," I said.

"Hunter's right; I think possibly because he, too, is wrong," Merritt replied. He turned to the audience whilst a frown crossed Arthur's face. "Everybody, take out your paper, and using the flashlight under your seat, start to warm up that paper. I think your correct balance begins to appear." The various lights waving around in the audience was starting to make me dizzy, and I had to look away for a moment to avoid becoming nauseous.

"Now Art, don't worry, we have a flashlight for you." Jack wandered back onstage, brandishing the floodlight in his arms. Damn, I'd forgotten I was supposed to help him with that. Everyone laughed as Jack lifted the light up to show them all, and he flicked it on, accidentally shining it in my face.

"Oh my God, I'm blind!" I screeched, covering my eyes and flailing around, much to the apparent delight of the crowd as they laughed even harder.

"Sorry Hunt!" Jack laughed, manoeuvring the floodlight so it was shining along the back of Arthur's cheque.

"Look," said Danny, pointing at the cheque.

"Wow," breathed Henley as the 7 in $144,579,651 changed to a 0.

"What's going on there, Daniel?" Merritt asked.

"Wait. This is weird. A second ago, it said one hundred and forty-four million, five hundred and seventy-nine thousand, six hundred and fifty-one. But now…now it says seventy thousand dollars less."

"Josepha, can you stand up?" Merritt called into the audience.

"Yes!" was the immediate reply, Josepha leaping to her feet.

"Now what is your new number?"

"Seventy thousand, five hundred and sixty-two dollars now in my account!" Bless Josepha, she sounded as though she could barely believe it. She held up her piece of paper to show as everyone cheered for her.

"Is it possible that Josepha's balance went up the exact amount that Art's went _down_?" Henley said, looking falsely surprised.

"Hey, check it out," Jack piped up. "It's happening again."

"Is it?" said Danny, looking back at the cheque when the 5 and the 0 of the $509,000 dispersed into two 2s.

"Wow! It is!" Henley gasped. "Art's balance has gone down another two hundred and eighty K!"

"Dina Robertson? What did yours say?" Merritt called.

"Two hundred and eighty-one thousand, four hundred and seventy-seven dollars," she stuttered.

"Hey! Look!" I suddenly shouted, jabbing my finger at the cheque. "How is it happening again!" The cheque's numbers were fading again; what was now $144,229,651 became $144,000,651.

"And that's another over two hundred grand gone!" announced Henley.

"Mila Tamworth, where are you?" Merritt now called into the audience a third time.

"I'm here!" Mila replied, standing up again.

"Would you mind sharing your new balance with us?" Merritt asked her.

"It says…" I watched her eyes dilate in excitement. "It says two hundred and thirty-one thousand, nine hundred and thirty-one pounds. Like, English pounds." The crowd starting applauding again as Henley, Danny and Jack put down whatever it was they were holding. I couldn't help but steal a glance at Arthur, and I was grimly happy to see him looking very, very aggravated.

"We have a confession to make," Henley addressed the crowd.

"She's right," said Jack. "We lied about something."

"Yes. None of you were chosen at random," Danny told them.

"All of you have one thing in common," said Merritt.

"None of you are financially comfortable," I said. "And it is not anyone in this room's fault."

"Everyone in this room was a victim of the hard times that hit one of America's most treasured cities," Henley informed them.

"Or else suffered losses in other dreadful manners," I added, seeking Mila out in the crowd and locking eyes with her.

"Some of you lost your houses, your cars," said Merritt.

"Your businesses," tacked on Jack.

"Your loved ones," finished Danny. "But all of you were insured by the same company."

"Tressler Insurance!" we all exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Arthur. The crowd was livid, gasping in total shock. They began to become restless, shouting angry things.

"You were abandoned!" shouted Merritt.

"You were loopholed!" yelled Henley, punching her fist in the air.

"Out of your settlements," Jack concluded.

"This is all for show. Correct?" Arthur demanded of Henley.

"'All' meaning we're doing it onstage in front of a paying audience?" Henley said cheekily. "Then yes, it's for show!"

"Woah! Woah!" someone in the crowd suddenly shouted above everyone else. "I've got eighty-two thousand dollars in my bank account! It says it right here on my cell phone!" As if on cue, text tones began pinging out throughout the theatre, everyone scrambling to check theirs. "Everybody, look at your cell phones right now! Everybody!"

The crowd went absolutely mental, everyone jumping up to their feet, yelling, cheering and stamping. I think I now knew how Jesus felt when he gave those people the fish and the wine.

"Hey! Did you do this?!" Arthur shouted furiously at Merritt.

"Oh come on," I retorted. "Don't you think that's a little unreasonable?"

"Yeah, how could we, Art?" smirked Jack. "We don't have your password."

"We'd need access to information we could _never _get our hands on," Henley said patronizingly.

"Ah yes, security questions," said Danny arrogantly. "For instance, like, I don't know, your mother's maiden name or…the name of your first pet."

"Where would we get that information, Art?" Merritt asked him. "You certainly would never tell us." Arthur lunged for Merritt as he walked to join us on the raised stage, but a handcuff linked around Art's ankle, binding him to the stage.

"Hey. We left you the jet, and the Rolls," Merritt told him unapologetically.

Arthur turned to face the audience; he was now at the forefront of some of the most colourful insults I have ever heard.

Danny fist-bumped Jack as we positioned ourselves in a line at the back of the stage, the lights dimming around us. Henley and Merritt high-fived as he joined us, and Jack and I knocked our fists twice together followed by a high-five that left our fingers interlinked- our childish secret handshake.

We all noticed Agent Dylan Rhodes hotfooting it towards the stage at the same time. "Stop!" he yelled. "Stop! Nobody move!" Danny waved condescendingly at him, causing Rhodes to shout out, "FREEZE!"

"Oh, _such _a bad call," I muttered as someone in the audience shrieked, "QUATERBACK!" Rhodes managed to jump the stage just as the twelve people who Merritt had hypnotized sprinted on to the stage too.

"We are The Five Horsemen!" we shouted in unison as our foot harnesses were lowered down to us, which we took hold of. "Good night!" We were hoisted up just as Rhodes made to grab Danny but instead was tackled by all twelve hypno victims. We all looked down and laughed as Rhodes disappeared under the pile of writhing audience members.

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**A/N- Okay, so I didn't quite mean for this chapter to turn out **_**quite **_**as long as this, but hey. All in good fun, am I right? Of course I am. So let me know how you liked it! We all know that shit starts going down from here on, doesn't it? So leave a review! They make me so happy and they make me want to update even quicker! Xx Gee xX**

**PS- So now on my profile there are links to Hunter, Mila and now Hunter's parents appearences, and my Polyvore account. Check 'em out!**


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